


yeah, i know, nobody knows, where it comes, and where it goes (i know everybody's sin, you got to lose, to know how to win)

by lovelyflowersinherhair



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyflowersinherhair/pseuds/lovelyflowersinherhair
Summary: The Blossom twins went out on a boat ride just after dawn. Only Jason Blossom returned alive, his twin slumped over him, shot in the chest, their clothes (once white) drenched in her blood. Sheriff FP Jones has no choice but to arrest the Blossom boy.  Jason swears he didn’t kill her. She was his twin.Shooting that girl was an accident, but Fred had to admit that he was glad to benefit from the boy’s arrest. Murdering Hiram had been a lapse of judgement on Fred’s part. Things can go back to normal. Except that Hermione has shown up and insisted they marry.Veronica Lodge doesn’t know that she believes that Jason Blossom killed her father. His sister? Sure. Everyone has been whispering about how close – too close – the Blossom twins were. The facts for her father don’t add up. Why would her mother have uprooted their lives from the Dakota and Spence to Riverdale and – ugh – public school, and why would she marry a blue-collar construction worker if she wasn’t trying to hide something? Her new stepbrother is a typical jock, and the only person whose remotely caught her eye is his girlfriend, Betty.Betty Jones. The girl next door. Accidental-acceptor of Archie Andrews’ second grade proposal.





	1. Professional Courtesy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feyrelay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/gifts).

> Please note that this story is entirely AU. FP and Alice got married when she was pregnant with Charles, and Betty is FP's biological daughter. The character of Polly still exists, but she is Hal's daughter, not Betty's sister. This story takes place in the 80s and I am trying to ensure that it is period-accurate, therefore things may occur in the story that do not reflect modern day beliefs and actions.

_July 4, 1985_

“The river is always so peaceful this early in the day,” Cheryl commented idly, as she and Jason rowed across the Sweetwater, their canoe the sole vessel on the water. The sun had yet to fully rise, and the citizens of Riverdale had yet to leave their beds, and greet the day, which explained the absence of the others. “Oh, JJ, do we really have to mingle with the plebeians at the Fourth of July _soiree_ later today?” She pursed her lips. “They’re so…less fortunate.”

“What Mother and Father say goes,” he said absentmindedly. Jason didn’t mind going to the Fourth of July celebration, even if it meant having to associate with the more…impoverished of Riverdale. He understood the value of networking, even if it debased himself in the process. “You know that they wouldn’t want us to attend if it hadn’t been deemed important to our social capital.”

Honestly. It was as if Cheryl had completely tuned out Mother and Father’s lectures on the subject, Jason thought to himself, grousing inwardly. He was exhausted. Cheryl had woken him up after about three hours of sleep, insisting that they take the boat out on the river, and he was regretting the fact that he had been browbeaten into doing so.

“Was there a reason you woke me up?”

“Oh, JJ. Do I really need a reason to want to go have an early morning boat ride with my brother?”

He let out a sigh. “No, of course not,” he said. “It’s just that you’ve been acting so strange lately… all that business with the other Vixens.” He wrinkled his nose. “You don’t see the Bulldogs having group sessions in our _hot tub_. What if Mother and Father had seen?”

Cheryl laughed. “I don’t care what they think of me,” she said, the bite evident in her tone. “You’re the heir. I’ll never compete.”

“You could still avoid _antagonizing _them, Cheryl,” he told her. “I don’t understand why you don’t. You know what’s expected of you—”

“What’s _expected _of me? Mother expects me to become a kept woman, miserable in her tower, like she is,” she hissed. “She doesn’t care that I don’t love those boys. That I _can’t_ love those boys.”

“What you want is unnatural,” he said. “You’re a Blossom, Cheryl. Being a Blossom carries certain expectations, and you have to follow them, even if you don’t _want_ to.”

Why was it so hard for Cheryl to understand these things? Jason didn’t understand.

“I don’t care what they want,” she said. “What you want. You’re supposed to be my twin, JJ. My other half. And if you don’t understan—”

Jason wouldn’t have paid Cheryl’s sudden silence any mind had a shot not rang out in the distance, and had he not felt her slump on to him, her mouth open in a shocked o.

“Cheryl???"

* * *

“What the hell did you do???” Hermione Lodge demanded, in what Fred thought was a needlessly harsh tone, given that _she_ had been the one to give him the command to shoot Hiram. It wasn’t his fault that he had overestimated the reach of the bullets. “You _shot_ someone!”

“Yes, Hiram!”

“I didn’t mean _Hiram_, you idiot,” she hissed, even though Hiram was indeed dead, so Fred _had_ done something right. “When I told you to make that _warning_ shot, you told me that no one was on the lake! You _shot_ someone on a boat! Can’t you hear that screaming?”

Fred grabbed the binoculars he had looped around his neck and put them up to his eyes, which widened as he focused his gaze on the boat that was in the river, and contained Jason and what…what hopefully _was_ Cheryl Blossom.

“Keep your voice down,” he instructed. “We can use this to our advantage.”

“_What_?” Hermione demanded. “What do you mean? You shot a _teenager_! You need to go check on her. I don’t care that you shot _Hiram_, Fred. I asked you to do that. I didn’t ask you to shoot that girl.”

Fred knew that what he was going to suggest was terrible, but part of him didn’t care. Shooting Hiram was one thing. That could have been blamed away on Hermione when his body had been discovered. Shooting Cheryl Blossom? Fred really couldn’t see FP turning the other way on that.

Having his best friend as the Sheriff had had less perks than Fred had assumed it would.

“I didn’t,” he said.

“What? She’s covered in blood!” Hermione’s hands were on her hips. Her expression reminded Fred of Alice Jones. It was unnerving. “You can’t pretend that you didn’t shoot her! There was a witness!”

“A witness that we can _blame_,” Fred said. “I can say that Vegas and I were out for an early morning walk around the river and we heard the Blossom twins arguing and a gun shot. By the time they find Hiram, they’ll have already taken Jason into custody. It would be easy to blame him for Hiram’s death, too.”

“Surely they wouldn’t buy that.”

“Do you _want_ to be arrested?” Fred shook his head. “FP’s gone straight. He busted me for a DUI a few weeks ago. He wouldn’t turn a blind eye to us shooting the Blossoms’ daughter.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You can go back to New York and go back to living your life,” he added. “You’d never have to come back to Riverdale ever again.”

That had been the deal, after all. Hermione had begged him to take care of Hiram, claiming that she had wanted a divorce and he had said no, that taking him out of the picture was the only way she could be free of him. Fred had never liked Hiram. He was a pompous asshole who’d come from money, and Hermione had picked him (and money) over Fred, and it was easy for Fred to believe the claims that she was making. The bribe had been enough to get him to abandon his morals. Money had been tight, with Mary off finding herself and refusing to send him enough money to live in the manner that he had been accustomed to.

There was trouble with the business, too. Fred couldn’t blame FP for giving him the loan and taking the job with the police department when he’d come back from the Army. Alice had been pregnant again, and they’d had mouths to feed. It made sense that FP didn’t want to co-own the company with him in anything but name. Things had been fine between them.

Until Tom Keller had arrested him for ‘driving erratically’ and FP had _insisted_ on him being charged on some _trumped_-up drink driving charge, despite the fact that everyone did it and Fred was supposedly like his brother.

“Right,” Hermione said. “It makes the most sense to blame it on the boy.”

“And you’ll go back to New York?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ll go back to New York.”

Hiram laid there silently, unable to contribute to the conversation.

It was better this way.

It had to be.

* * *

FP’s mind foggily acknowledged that there was a pounding on his and Alice’s bedroom door, though he elected to ignore the fact that there was someone trying to get their attention for the moment. It was his day off, and, dammit, he was going to enjoy it. He had promised Jellybean that he would take them to the fireworks later, as a family, and dammit, he was going to commit. Being the Sheriff was important, of course, but his family was more important to him than any job.

The knocking continued.

“Dad?” Betty’s voice, though muffled, could be heard through the door. “Mr. Keller’s on the phone. He says that it’s important.”

FP groaned. Alice was still soundly asleep, no doubt partly due to her sedatives, and he didn’t dare wake her so he could speak to Tom Keller about whatever idiocy the townspeople had gotten into on the holiday – already! It was barely six am.

“Bring it in here,” he called to her. “Door’s unlocked.”

The door opened to reveal his eldest daughter, clad in her pajamas, looking every bit like the phone had woken her up because she’d fallen asleep with it in her room _again_, probably talking to the Andrews boy. FP didn’t much like the fact that Fred’s son had decided that Betty’s agreement to marry him when they were _eight_ had to be taken as gospel, and he really didn’t like that the girl had decided that it was okay to settle for a ring from the buffoon on her finger. FP loved Alice, he really did, but he had hoped that Betty hadn’t planned to follow in her footsteps and become a teen bride.

“What?” Betty demanded.

“We’ll talk about how you knew Tom was calling later,” he settled, and he reached out for the telephone, putting it up to his ear while he lit a cigarette with his free hand. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Dad,” she said, and he watched her twist that ridiculous ring around her ring finger. “Mr. Keller said it was important.”

“And you want to stay?” FP was tempted to order Betty back to bed. It would have served her right for spending hours upon hours on the phone with Red. But she was his daughter. He couldn’t help that she’d inherited his stupid, impulsive, nature. “Sit,” he commanded. “Hi, Tom, what is it?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, FP,” Tom said, his voice sounding apologetic. “It’s just that there was a shooting at Sweetwater River. Fred Andrews called it in from the payphone. Said he was walking his dog and he heard fighting, and then a gunshot. And then another.”

“Who got shot?” FP doubted the veracity of Fred’s story. He was fairly certain that the shooting may have been true, but anything else that was said was suspect. “Fred?”

“No, not Fred,” he said. “Apparently Jason Blossom shot his twin.”

FP let out a groan. He didn’t want to deal with Penelope or Clifford Blossom. He wanted to deal with Jellybean’s disappointment even less.

“I’ll be right down—”  


“Penelope and Clifford are saying they don’t want to press charges,” Tom continued. “That Jason was just doing what was best for the family tree, but Jason keeps denying that he shot her…the medics think he’s in shock. That he isn’t ready to face what he’s done.”

“I don’t care what the Blossoms want,” FP said. “Bring him down to the station for booking. And tell me that you held Fred?” He lit up another cigarette. “Tom?”

“He was gone by the time we showed up,” he said. FP stifled a yawn. “Should we have called him back?”

“Oh, no, of _course_ not,” he drawled. “Why would we do that? I’ll see you in a few.”

He fumbled to end the call, and returned the phone to the base it belonged to, leaning across Alice in the process.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“Was that about Archie?”

“I don’t want you seeing that boy,” FP said. “Not today. Not for a while.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But, no, it wasn’t about Archie. The Blossom girl.”

“Why can’t I see Archie?”

“People are dying, Elizabeth.” FP recognized that his tone was somewhat harsh, and he softened it. “Look, kid, I just don’t want you to get involved in something that’s bigger than you, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

He shoved off the sheet and threw on the uniform that he’d thrown on the floor the night before, not caring that he was still wearing the shorts and t-shirt that he’d slept in. The Blossoms were lucky they were getting him in a state that was semi-presentable. Alice let out a loud snore.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Betty said. “You and Mom were younger than we are.”

“Your mother and I _had_ to get married. You didn’t think it was strange that your brother was ‘three months premature’ and the size of a full-grown newborn?” He buttoned up the shirt as he spoke. “I love your mother. I don’t regret marrying her or having to go into the service to provide for her and your brother. That doesn’t mean that we don’t want better for you, Elizabeth. You don’t _have_ to marry Red. You can tell him to go to hell for all I care.”

“I thought the two of you thought it was cute!”  


“We did, when you were _eight_ and we thought it was a _joke_.” He sighed. “Look, kiddo, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there’s nothing connecting Fred to the Blossom girl’s death. But, until I know for sure, I want you to be safe. And that means no Archie.”

A position that would please Alice when she awoke. FP was certain of that.

“…okay,” Betty said, her gaze downcast. “I’ll go back to bed.”

“Why don’t you stay here, with your mother? Just until I come back?”

* * *

“Are you sure that headline is accurate?” Alice questioned Hal politely, her brow furrowed. “Do you seriously think that Jason Blossom killed Cheryl _and_ Hiram Lodge? What business would he have had doing that?”

“Of course, I don’t think that,” Hal told her. “But the paper prints what the public wants to hear. They don’t want to hear about how there’s a second gunman on the loose. They want to believe that the murderer was caught.”

“Why would he kill Cheryl, for that matter?”

“What do you mean?”

“They were twins, Hal, you don’t often hear about twins killing each other, do you?”

“It’s happened before,” he said, after a moment. “With that family. Terrible, terrible, things happen with that family.”

Alice barely resisted rolling her eyes. She knew perfectly well that Harold and the rest of the Coopers were related to the Blossoms, after Harold had debased himself by getting drunk at the Register’s Christmas party and informed everyone that he and Penelope were kissing cousins, and yes, he meant that literally. Not that he had any memory of the events. Harold had woken up on the floor of the Register the next morning with no memory of the previous evening and a raging hangover.

“What about Fred?”

“What _about_ Fred?”

“Don’t you find his explanation for his whereabouts to be somewhat too convenient? Walking that mutt of his in the pitch black at the river? Why would anyone do that?”

“You’re the investigative reporter, Alice, not me.”

“Was Hermione in town to see you?”

“Hermione wasn’t in town,” he said. “She’s been in the city for weeks.”

“Interesting. It’s just that…no. I must have been mistaken.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, as you know, I have the grand misfortune of living on the _other_ side of Fred,” she said, and she crinkled her nose. “I couldn’t help but notice that he and Archibald had a familiar looking houseguest last night. At first, I thought it couldn’t _possibly_ be Hermione, because, well, I thought that she was cheating on Hiram with you, and they looked pretty cozy…but you said that she wasn’t there. Hasn’t been here. Surely you would have known…?”

“She’s cheating on me with Fred?”

“Technically I think she’s still cheating on Hiram,” Alice said breezily. “I mean. Sure, he’s dead. But.”

“You’re not funny, Alice,” Hal said, his face beat red. “If I go to New York and find out that you’re playing me for the fool—”

“Don’t you want to go to New York to make sure _you’re_ not being played for the fool?” Alice waggled her brows. “I have better things to do than toy with you.”

“Like?”

“I’m going with FP and the kids to the fireworks in Greendale,” Alice said. “It’s not the same as the Riverdale ones, but, obviously, in light of the circumstances…”


	2. the people we meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice sighed. “I came in to balance the offerings of the paper,” she said. “It’s one thing for Harold to use the paper as his mouthpiece, but it didn’t need to be entirely dedicated to how much the man hates Hermione Lodge.” Alice rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why he’s surprised. I certainly wouldn’t be claiming that girl as my daughter. Dating her own cousin? Who’s been arrested for sororicide? It’s an abomination.” 
> 
> “I still don’t actually think that he did it,” FP admitted. “I mean, there’s a motive for killing Cheryl, I suppose. But why would he kill Lodge? Are we sure Hal didn’t?”
> 
> “Harold?” Alice rolled her eyes. “Harold is so incompetent that he would have shot himself before he managed to shoot a girl on the river or his point blank target. And why would he incriminate himself, anyways?” She shook her head. “Come on, sit down. I brewed you some high point.”

Hermione had decided that she was going to kill Fred the next time she saw him, if listening to Harold’s ramblings didn’t cause her to jam a fireplace poker in her eye. 

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” she told him. “I wasn’t in Riverdale when Hiram got shot. I was here, in New York. With my daughter, Veronica.” 

“Don’t bullshit me,” Hal said, as he paced back and forth across her front hallway. “I’m not Fred, Hermione. You can’t dangle a bone at me and have me jump at your every word.”

“Of course you’re not Fred,” she said, her tone disdainful. “Fred is...a pawn to me. You’re nothing like that.” 

“I know that you were in Riverdale,” Hal told her. “I have security cameras, Hermione. I saw you at Fred’s. I know what you did together.” 

“What is it that you think that we did?” Hermione had been _ certain _ that Fred’s idea of blaming the Blossom boy was a decent one, and to find out that no one had bought it was somewhat horrifying and somewhat depressing. She supposed it was a comfort that Hal was confronting her and not FP Jones. “Hal?”

“You’re fucking him,” he hissed. “Just like you were in high school, when you strung the three of us along.” 

“Hal, that isn’t--”

“What is it, then? If you’re not fucking him?”   
  


“I--”

Hal shook his head. “Dammit, Hermione. All I wanted was for you to pick me for once. At least I’m not an alcoholic  _ loser _ whose business is barely fiscally solvent.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Maybe you ought to try to make it last with him. It would be good for him to make sure there’s someone there to treat his alcohol poisoning.”

“What are you saying, Hal? That you don’t want to see me anymore?”

“I’m saying that something went on between you and Andrews when you lied about being here in New York,” he said. “I don’t know what it is, Hermione, but I damn sure don’t plan on being in bed with you when the truth comes out.”

“Fine,” she hissed. “Think what you want about me. You always did.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“You only dated me because I was a socially acceptable way to anger your mother,” she hissed. “You think I didn’t know that? How you would drag me out on double dates with your jock friends because you knew how mad it made her? And who cares if I slept around on you? I’m not Alice, Hal. I was never going to be that girl.”

“I never expected you to be--”   
  


“Oh, please,” she snapped. “When I got pregnant you wanted to marry me. You couldn’t stand the fact that I wanted better for myself, that I wanted the problem handled. You expected me to be some prized trophy wife, who popped out spawn after spawn. I don’t even know if it was yours.” 

“Hermione--”

“What? What did you want, Hal? With Hiram dead, you thought I’d come back? You thought I’d let Veronica around her... _ biological _ sister? You were the one who kept her. Isn’t wasting my money every month enough?” 

“If I did want that, I certainly don’t now,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Fred, but, whatever, Hermione. Whatever we had together? It’s through. You can do whatever the hell you want, and I sure as hell won’t stop you.” 

“Thank you, Hal.” 

“Don’t thank me,” he muttered. “I might not care what you do, or what he does, but I’m not the only one in Riverdale that knows about your visit. Or that finds the existence of it suspect.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Hermione. I’m sure that Alice won’t share her suspicions with FP. She’s a journalist, after all.” 

“Well, if Alice won’t--”   
  


“But, who’s to stop me from sharing mine?” 

* * *

“I just don’t understand,” Fred said for what he felt was roughly the third time, as he stared down at the sheaf of papers that had arrived in his mailbox earlier that day, the phone held up to his ear. Mary was on the other end of the line. “I just don’t understand.” 

“What don’t you understand?” She sounded annoyed. “We haven’t lived together in over three years, Fred. We barely even speak. I signed those papers the second they showed up. I didn’t want the blessing that was you having signed them first to evaporate.” 

“You’re divorcing me?” Fred shook his head. It was true that he’d signed the papers, but, well, he’d meant that as a bluff. Not out of any desire to stop being married to Mary. “How could you do that to me? Or to Archie?” 

He heard the sigh on the other end of the line. “Fred,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I have signed those divorce papers? I told you, this was what I wanted. We’re not compatible anymore. I don’t know if we ever were. Whenever we’re in the same room we barely tolerate each other, and tha--”   
  


“What am I going to tell Archie?” Fred demanded, his tone hardened. “First his fiancee says that she’s not sure that she wants to marry him, and now you don’t want to be his mother anymore? And Betty didn’t even have the  _ decency _ to approach him herself. She made Charles do it.” He rolled his eyes. “The Register says that children who don’t live in nuclear families suffer, Mary. Archie needs his mother--”   
  


“I’m still his mother,” Mary said, in a tone that could have cut glass. “Just because our marriage is over doesn’t mean that my relationship with our son is.” She sighed once more. “And, as his mother, may I state that I don’t approve of his attempts to gain a betrothed before either of them has graduated high school? What were you thinking, Fred? Encouraging our teenager to propose to his girlfriend? Care to provide me with an explanation Frederick?” 

“Betty had already agreed to marry him,” Fred reminded her. Another sigh. “When they were eight. Don’t you remember?” 

“They were children, Fred. Betty’s parents got married when they were still in high school, and they were eight years old. Of course she was going to agree to marry Archibald when they were eighteen. That doesn’t mean that she meant it, or that she should be held to those childhood ideals. And that doesn’t explain why  _ you _ encouraged Archibald into manipulating her into accepting that ring.” 

Fred scoffed. “Manipulate--”   
  


“Don’t even try to defend yourself,” Mary hissed. “You don’t think I know? Alice Jones called to tell me.”

“Alice and FP misinterpreted things,” he said. “I can’t help that we’re raising Archie differently than how they’re raising those kids. Am I supposed to police every interaction he has with them?” 

“His comments were beyond the pale, Fred. Telling Alice and FP that Elizabeth was better off getting married because she wanted to and not because she had to was needlessly cruel, and then to say that he was quoting  _ you _ ? Fred, FP is supposedly your best friend. You really hurt his feelings.”   
  
Fred rolled his eyes, and he popped the top off a beer. He took a gulp of the room temperature liquid, needing something to take the edge off of the conversation with Mary. It was not going at all the way he’d intended it to. 

“If FP was really my friend, he would have let my driving after a beer slide,” he groused. “Instead, he had me charged. What happened to looking the other way?” 

“He’s the Sheriff,” Mary said. “He can’t look the other way when you drink and drive. And it wasn’t just ‘one beer’, Fred. It never is with you. I have half a mind to come back to Riverdale and take Archie back home with me.” 

“You can’t do that,” he said. “I’ll have you declared unfit. I’ll tell him  _ why _ you don’t think we’re compatible anymore.” 

“Oh, Fred, go ahead,” she said. “I’m not ashamed of who I am. You’re the one who should be ashamed.”

“I don’t have anything to be ashamed of--”

Mary gave a bitter laugh. “Really? Care to inform me why a little birdy told me that you’re having an affair with Hermione Gomez? How she’s been in and out of the neighborhood practically every week? In the house that we used to share? Next door to that  _ daughter _ she doesn’t see? You prattle on and on about how nuclear families are important, and you go and do that? What is the Cooper girl going to think if her mother moves in and doesn’t even give her the time of day?”

“You shouldn’t listen to Alice. She doesn’t even know what she’s talking about.” 

“Alice? I didn’t hear that from Alice. I heard it from Hal.” 

Fred rolled his eyes. He didn’t have the energy to deal with the fact that Hal had fabricated himself and Hermione having an affair out of whole cloth and heresy, nor did he particularly appreciate Mary using it to prove a point of some kind. To say he was annoyed was putting it mildly. 

“Hermione made the choice not to be in Polly’s life,” he said. “I don’t care what she does. She’s not coming back here ever again.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Fred.” 

“Look, Mary, if this conversation is going to keep going the way it’s been going, I don’t see much of the point of having one, do you?” He sighed. “I just don’t understand why you can’t just come home.”   
  


“I  _ am _ at home,” she said. “Chicago is my home now. Riverdale is my past.”

Perhaps it was immature of him to hang up on Mary without a goodbye, but Fred didn’t much mind dabbling in immaturity when Mary had ruined his life out of sheer spite. And why? Because he hadn’t wanted to move to  _ Chicago _ for her to practice law when she could have done it in Riverdale? Or in the city? If anyone was selfish, it was her. She knew what Riverdale meant to him, and to have tried to take it away from him because she was  _ bored _ was something that he couldn’t abide by. 

And FP and Alice? They were supposed to be  _ his _ friends. Not Mary’s. Where the hell did Alice get off filling her head with nonsense? It wasn’t what he had said wasn’t true. 

Alice and FP had had to get married, because Alice hadn’t wanted to do what was right, and go off to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy, and come back fifty pounds lighter and claim she was back from juvenile detention, and Fred had been cast aside as a result. FP had wanted the baby, wanted to do right by Alice and the child that they were expecting, and suddenly, the plans that they’d had shared had blown up in smoke. There was no more talk of taking the Shaggin’ Wagon out on tour with the band, and no more talk of going up to Canada to avoid the draft. What had been the point of FP joining up with the Serpents if he wasn’t planning on using their Montreal connections? 

FP had buckled down and tested out of his degree, and enlisted in the Army, Alice by his side the entire way. And Fred had been left out in the cold. 

He’d gotten over that, for the most part. Charlie had come into the world, and FP had brought the squalling infant over to see his parents, and Fred had decided that tolerating his friend’s new reality was preferable to his mother and father lecturing him over ignoring what they’d deemed to be progress in his oldest friend. Fred didn’t consider it progress, though. 

Marriage and the kid would have been fine, had FP not decided to take both things seriously. Not wanting to be like his dad was admirable, but, they were young. What was the harm in having fun? 

Alice gossiping to Mary was something that Fred felt needed to stop. 

Grabbing a beer for the walk, Fred left the house, and headed to the house next door. He would have dealt with Hal first (Fred was angry, not suicidal), but the Cooper property was empty, and shrouded in darkness. Hal’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and there wasn’t even a sign of the infamous Polly Cooper, not that Fred wanted to waste his time talking to someone who may or may not have been Hermione’s daughter. Hermione said that she wasn’t, and that was all he needed to believe it was baseless rumors. 

The Jones’ house, on the other hand, was clearly occupied. Alice’s station wagon was parked in front of the carport, and he could hear the sound of the children inside the property. Fred took a gulp of his drink, and he headed up the steps to the front door, and rang the doorbell, pleased when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. 

The door swung open to reveal FP’s youngest child, whom he’d christened Jellybean. 

“Is your mother home?” Fred asked, hoping that the question would produce Alice, and not force him to engage with the girl. “Alice?”

“I  _ know _ who my mama is,” Jellybean informed him, her thumb returning to her mouth. “She’s inside.” 

“Is she?” Fred asked. “I’d like to speak to her.”

Jellybean nodded. “Mama?” Her voice was loud enough to give Fred a headache. “Uncle Fred’s here!” 

“Is he, Forsythia?” 

“Uh-huh! He came to the door. He smells yucky.” 

“I’m coming, Jellybean,” he heard Alice say, and her voice seemed close enough that he decided to ignore Jellybean’s comments about how he smelled. “Don’t go anywhere with him.” 

“I’m not gonna,” she whined. “He mean.” 

Alice appeared in the entranceway behind the girl, and he watched as she picked her up, and held her on her hip. FP and Alice coddled the children too much, at least, in Fred’s opinion. 

“What is it that you want?” Alice demanded. “Come to have another go at me?” 

“I want to know why you told Mary what I said to you and FP,” Fred said, his brain protesting this decision, but the alcohol intake he’d already consumed only serving to encourage him. “All I said was the truth, and you went crying about it to my wife--”

“The truth?” Alice’s eyes had narrowed. “What? That you have never gotten over the fact that FP and I got married and had a baby and ruined whatever hairbrained plans you had to  _ ruin _ his life? Moving to Montreal to evade the draft?” She sneered. “How about how you planned to take your  _ middling _ band on the road in that death trap of a vehicle? Thought you could make it big, didn’t you?” 

“Of course we could have--”

“Fred,” Alice said. “No you couldn’t have. And I am  _ tired _ of you throwing the fact that you refused to grow up and FP elected to in his face.” He watched her adjust her hold on the girl. “And, for what it’s worth, I didn’t ‘gossip’ with Mary. I merely informed her that you got arrested for driving drunk, and told her that our children had embarked on a positively foolish engagement -- and she happened to agree with both of my talking points.” 

“You  _ forced _ them to break up--”

“Oh, can it, Fred. I didn’t force Elizabeth to do anything she didn’t want to do. Why would she want to stifle herself by being married to Archibald when she could have actual taste?” 

“She was the one who--”

“They were  _ eight years old _ and it was meant to be a joke. Maybe if you hadn’t been so incompetent as to figure out that your only child didn’t know how to read at aged eight, my daughter wouldn’t have felt  _ compelled _ to be a good person and help your buffoon of a son out. Did you ever think about that? No. You were too busy bankrupting your father’s company by snorting coke with the payroll.” 

“I told FP that in confidence--”

“Did you think he was going to loan you that amount of money without checking with me?” Alice demanded. “He’s my husband. Unlike some marriages, we’re a partnership. He’s not some draconian dictator that I had to move states away from to escape.” She sniffed the air. “And are you drinking already? It’s not even noon.” 

“I’m not drinking--”

“You’re holding a beer in your hand, Fred.” 

* * *

  
  


“What’s the matter now?” Alice asked FP as he walked through the door, looking entirely too exhausted for someone who was going to have the next two days off. The kids had been parked in front of the television while she made dinner, and she left the pan of pasta cooking on the stove in order to cross over to where he stood. “Jonesy?” 

“I’m just tired, Al,” he said, and she watched him scrub his hand over his beard. “Been a long day. I can’t wait to have the next couple days at home with all of you.” 

“I can’t wait either,” she said. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Jellybean wants to know if you want to rent a movie tonight.” Jellybean had noticed that her father had come home, and Alice could see her peering around the corner, clearly trying not to be noticed. “Come here, honey, it’s okay. I know you want to say hi to Daddy.” 

Jellybean, the youngest of the Jones children, was four years old, and she absolutely adored her father. Alice felt that the feeling was mutual. 

“Hey, Bean,” FP called to her, and he opened his arms for a hug. “What have you been up to today?” She scampered across the room and into his arms, and Alice smiled as FP scooped her up. “I missed you, darling.” 

“Went to work with Mama,” Jellybean informed him. 

“Did you, now? I thought it was Mama’s day off?” 

Alice sighed. “I came in to balance the offerings of the paper,” she said. “It’s one thing for Harold to use the paper as his mouthpiece, but it didn’t need to be  _ entirely _ dedicated to how much the man hates Hermione Lodge.” Alice rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why he’s surprised. I certainly wouldn’t be claiming that girl as my daughter. Dating her own cousin? Who’s been arrested for sororicide? It’s an abomination.” 

“I still don’t actually think that he did it,” FP admitted. “I mean, there’s a motive for killing Cheryl, I suppose. But why would he kill Lodge? Are we sure Hal didn’t?”   
  


“Harold?” Alice rolled her eyes. “Harold is so incompetent that he would have shot himself before he managed to shoot a girl on the river or his point blank target. And why would he incriminate himself, anyways?” She shook her head. “Come on, sit down. I brewed you some high point.” 

“I helped!” Jellybean chirped. She laid her head on FP’s shoulder. 

“Did you, princess?” He chuckled. “How did you help your mother?” He sat down at the kitchen table, and arranged Jellybean so that she was sat on his lap, where she fiddled with his tie. “By being constantly underfoot?” 

“We made  _ cookies _ for you,” she informed him. “Chocolate chips, cause Mama says they’re your favorite. She says the baby likes them too.” 

“I’ll bet the baby does,” he agreed. “Maybe Mama will sit down and have a cookie with us?” 

“I’m making dinner, FP.” 

“It’ll keep.” 

Alice bit back a sigh, and she busied herself by pouring him a cup of coffee, and artfully arranged the cookies on the serving dish. 

“If that’s what you want,” she said. “I suppose it’s fine.” 

“It’s what I want,” he said. “Come on, babe. It’s okay to relax once in awhile. Where are the twins?” 

Alice sighed. “They went to the mall with Kevin and the Topaz girl,” she said. 

“Jughead went to the mall?” 

“I bribed him,” she said. “I told him we’d go to Pop’s tomorrow if he went. I just…”

She trailed off, and she glanced down at Jellybean, who was happily coloring all over the day’s copy of the paper. 

“What is it, Al?” 

“Nothing,” she lied. “Just tired, that’s all. Maybe I will join the two of you.” 

“Uncle Fred came over,” Jellybean supplied. “He was mean to Mama.” 

“Was he?” FP asked. 

Jellybean nodded. “Uh huh, and he smelled gross. I don’t like him very much, Daddy.” 

Alice sighed. “It’s okay, Jellybean. No one expects you to like him, okay?” 

“Okay. I want a cookie.” 

FP smiled down at her. “Ah, there’s my little girl. Yeah, you can have a cookie, okay?” 

Jellybean simply beamed. 

Alice undid her apron and hung it in its spot by the stove, before she grabbed herself a cup of coffee, and sat down beside Jellybean and FP. 

“Baby wants a cookie too,” Jellybean insisted. “You  _ said _ she did, Mama.” 

“I did, didn’t I.” 

“Baby might be a boy, Jellybelly,” FP said, as he took a bite of the cookie, and swallowed. “Would you be okay with a brother?” 

Jellybean wrinkled her nose. “I gots two already.” She reached out to pat Alice’s belly. The baby rewarded her with a kick. “It kicked me!”

“It knows you’re its big sister,” she told her. “And that you want to share a cookie with it.” 

“I  _ do _ want the baby to gots a cookie, Mama. A super big one. Since you and the baby gots to share.” 

  
  
  
  
  



	3. god has spoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Veronica. Go with the girl. I have things to discuss with Fred.” 
> 
> Betty gaped. 
> 
> The girl, who was named Veronica, looked unamused. 
> 
> “Mr. Andrews isn’t even home,” Betty said, as she tried to salvage the shreds of her alone time. “He’s at work--”
> 
> “All the more reason for Veronica to go with you,” she said, and Betty noticed her gaze lingering on the crucifix that hung on her neck. “She needs...positive influences.”

“I just don’t understand why we have to leave,” Veronica said, her tone exceedingly patient. “I thought that Daddykins mysteriously winding up dead was our fresh start, not whatever  _ this _ is.” To say that Veronica was unimpressed by the town of Riverdale was putting it mildly. “I mean, Mami, they don’t even have a real mall. Where’s their shopping district?” 

“You’ll have to adjust, Veronica,” Hermione informed her. “Adjusting is what people do. Riverdale is my home. Was my home. It’s what’s best, Veronica.” 

Veronica scoffed. “What’s best? For who? You?” 

“You think this is about me?” Hermione shot her a glare. “This is about you. About your...unnatural behaviors, as of late. Claiming that you have an attraction to both men  _ and _ women? That has to be a liberal attitude that you got at Spence.” She pursed her lips. “If you think that I will stand for  _ my _ daughter thinking  _ unnatural _ thoughts, Mija, you have another thing coming.” 

Veronica drew in a deep breath. “They  _ aren’t _ unnatural--”   
  


“They go against God.” Hermione’s tone brokered no argument. “Have you learned nothing--”   
  


“I haven’t even  _ done _ anything,” she said in protest. “You’re punishing me based on hypotheticals?” 

“It’s not a punishment,” she said. “It’s just...what’s best for you. Punishment would be locking you away in a convent for troubled women.” 

Veronica sank against the back of her seat, not knowing if Hermione was kidding about the threat to send her to a convent for troubled women, but not wanting to find out. She regretted telling her mother about her crush on her classmate. Hermione had always claimed that she and Veronica were friends first, family second, and that whatever the girl wanted her to know would take paramount to Hermione’s feelings on the subject. She should have known that was a lie. 

Ever since Hiram had died, Hermione had changed. Instead of being glad to be freed of the tyrant she had been married to, her mother had doubled down on being determined that Veronica was a problem that needed to be kept in line, and not a teenager who was just stepping ever so slightly outside of the box that her parents had placed her in. 

Veronica had done her best to ignore it. Frankly, that was how Hermione liked their relationship. At arm's length, and only at her terms. Veronica had quickly learned how best to navigate her parents. The fact that she had managed to misread her mother so terribly was embarrassing, to say the least. 

The trip to Riverdale had been sprung on her, and she had been in a foul mood ever since they had begun the drive to upstate New York. As civilization slipped away from her, so did the shreds of her pleasantry. 

“Where are we even going to live?” Veronica dared to ask. She knew that her mother had held on to a property in Riverdale, and she was sure that it wouldn’t be  _ that _ much of a downgrade from the Plaza. “At the Pembroke?” 

Hermione laughed. “Don’t be foolish,” she said. “I’m not bringing Frederick into the Pembroke.”

“We’re getting a dog?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Veronica,” she said. “I’m getting married.” As she spoke, Hermione lit up a Virginia Slim. “I’ve decided that there’s no time like the present to do what  _ I _ want, Mija. Embrace  _ my _ life. Do what’s right for me.” 

“And you think that getting married to a  _ stranger _ is what’s  _ right  _ for you?” 

She took a puff of the cigarette. “Fred isn’t a stranger. We dated in high school. Before I met your father. Things...weren’t in a position to work out back then,” she said. “Things were different. We wanted different things.” 

“Why now?” 

“Your father’s dead, Ronnie,” she said, and she glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Why shouldn’t I try to move on, have a chance at happiness?” 

Veronica barely resisted rolling her eyes. “If we’re not going to live in the Pembroke, where are we going to live?”

“Fred owns a lovely home,” she said. “On Elm Street. It’s the perfect size for our new family.” 

“Our ‘new family’?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. “Fred has a son, he’s your age, roughly. It will be nice for you to have positive influences in your life. I’ve clearly failed as your mother.” 

Veronica didn’t bother to dignify the comment with a response, choosing instead to turn her attention out her window, where they had entered what was clearly what passed as Riverdale’s downtown. She bit back the sigh that she wanted to let escape. 

“If that’s what you think is best,” she mumbled. 

“I thought you’d agree with me.”

It had been clear to Veronica that she had had no choice but to agree with her mother. What was she going to do? Have a tantrum and end up sent to that convent? It was possible that her mother had made up the existence of such a place, but knowing Hermione Lodge, it was equally possible that the threat was sincere, and not idle. She may have been too good to live in a small town, but it was infinitely preferable to being locked away. 

“What’s with all of the black?” The bunting of all of the businesses in the town square was black and grey, as if the town was in mourning as a collective whole, and Veronica wrinkled her nose at the sight. “Is it for Daddykins?” 

“Don’t be foolish,” Hermione said. “These people didn’t mourn your father. The man who killed him killed his twin, as well,” she said. She let out a sigh. “That’s who is being mourned. That girl.”

“Why would he kill his twin  _ and _ Daddykins?” Veronica asked. “That makes no sense.” 

“I don’t know, Veronica. Why don’t you stop asking questions? This doesn’t concern you. It’s a matter between adults. All that matters to us is that your father is gone. And thank God for that.”

“Better a widow than a divorcee,” Veronica whispered, her tone barely audible. 

“What did you say?” 

“Nothing,” she lied. “Just--you’re right. I shouldn’t get involved in their business. They don’t know me. It would be intrusive.” 

“That’s right.” 

Veronica elected to maintain silence as her mother drove the car through the business district and into a residential district, even though the homes that they were passing were certainly not up to the standards she held for herself. If her mother wanted to debase herself and live in quasi-poverty, that was fine, but Veronica? She had better things to do. A reputation to try to maintain. 

She did  _ not _ want to live in suburbia. 

She wanted 5th Avenue. 

The car slowed to a stop and parked in front of a house, and Veronica bit back a sigh. It wasn’t as if there was anything really  _ wrong _ with the property, she supposed. It was perfectly acceptable for where they were, if it hadn’t been next to two impeccably maintained properties on either side. 

“Should we introduce ourselves to the neighbors?” 

Hermione scowled. “Mija, we don’t need to be introduced. We’re Lodges. We have an established reputation.” 

* * *

  
  


“I just don’t understand,” Archie said, as he held the jewelry box that Betty had presented to him in his hand, and Betty attempted to keep her expression polite, while she wanted to shake him. “You’re breaking up with me?” 

“I don’t think that we’re ready to be engaged,” Betty said, in what she felt was the understatement of the century. “Most people who get engaged are doing it out of mutual love, Archie, not because their boyfriend is following through on a proposal he made in grammar school.” 

“So, you’re breaking up with me?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Betty insisted. “I just think we should date, and not be planning to run off to Atlantic City the second I turn eighteen.”

“It was good enough for your parents. Hell, they were already  _ married _ by the age we are now,” Archie said. “They were about to have your brother--”

“This isn’t about my parents,” Betty said flatly. “This isn’t about what they did, or what they didn’t do, and this isn’t about the choices they made. This is about you, and this is about me, and I am not my mother, Archie. I’m not in love with you like she is with my dad. You’re nice and I really like you, and maybe we could be happy together someday, but I’m not ready for that day to come as soon as you want it to come.” 

She drew in a deep breath. It was clear that Archie wasn’t on the same page as her about their relationship, and Betty suspected this had been true for quite some time. She sighed, and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. 

Alice had been apoplectic when she had come home from the mall with a permanent, but when she had explained that she had wanted a change, to do something  _ for _ her, and not for everyone else, her mother had lessened her roar to a dull simmer. 

Archie hadn’t even noticed her new haircut. 

“Where the hell did this come from?” Archie demanded. “I thought we were happy together--”   
  


“You were happy, not me,” she corrected. “I don’t understand why you think your happiness is the only thing that matters here,” she said. “I deserve to be happy, too. I don’t aspire solely to be someone’s wife, Archie. Maybe I did back in second grade, when I was  _ eight _ and I idolized my parents, but I grew up, Archie. I’m my own person.” 

“Be--”

“I’m not a miniature version of my mother,” Betty continued. “And, even if I was, you are  _ nothing _ like my father. In fact,” she said, her spine stiffening. “You’re more like your father than I feel comfortable with.” 

Archie had changed when his mother had departed for Chicago, and Betty had been too blinded by love to notice. Maybe the changes had happened slowly? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she barely recognized the boy that she’d fallen in love with once. She certainly didn’t want to marry him. 

She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to date him anymore.

“My dad is a good person--”

“Your dad? If he was a good person he wouldn’t do half the things that he’s done, Archie. Maybe he was a good person once, but he certainly hasn’t been like that for awhile.” 

“Like your father’s a damn saint--”

“Shut your mouth,” Betty heard herself say, before she processed that she’d uttered the phrase. “I don’t want you to say anything about  _ my _ dad. What gave you the right?”

“I’m your fiance--”

“No,” she said, and she grabbed her purse off the table she’d set it on, and shouldered the bag. “You’re not anything to me, Archibald Andrews. Not anymore.”

“You think you can break up with me?” 

“What are you going to do? Hit me? Are you forgetting my dad is the Sheriff?” Betty rolled her eyes, and she nodded. “Goodbye, Archie.” 

“Betty--”

“I don’t know that I want to have anything to do with you right now,” Betty said, her tone firm. “I need some time. To think.” 

Archie took a step towards her, and she watched the change in his posture as he accepted defeat. 

“If that’s what you want, Betts.” 

“It’s not about what I want, it’s about what we both need.” She pursed her lips together, and she left the Andrewses’ kitchen, determined to leave the house as quickly as possible. She had said what she’d needed to say, and she wanted to leave before Mr. Andrews returned home from...wherever he had wandered off to. 

Archie had claimed that his dad was at work, but, well. Betty wasn’t entirely certain of that. How could he work as a construction worker with his license suspended? Either he was acting outside of the parameters of the law, or he was lying to someone. Or she was being lied to. Either way, Betty wanted nothing to do with it.

She opened the door to exit the property, and was faced with the presence of two complete strangers, one of them who appeared to be her parents’ age, and the other a girl who looked to be her age. Betty managed a polite smile, though she feared it would come out as more of a grimace. 

“Excuse me,” she said. “I was just leaving.” 

“I thought Fred had a  _ son _ \--”

“He does,” Betty muttered. “He’s in the house. I live next door.” 

She was exhausted. It had been a long day. She didn’t have time to deal with whatever trouble Mr. Andrews had brought upon himself. 

“Perfect,” the older woman said. “Veronica. Go with the girl. I have things to discuss with Fred.” 

Betty gaped. 

The girl, who was named Veronica, looked unamused. 

“Mr. Andrews isn’t even home,” Betty said, as she tried to salvage the shreds of her alone time. “He’s at work--”

“All the more reason for Veronica to go with you,” she said, and Betty noticed her gaze lingering on the crucifix that hung on her neck. “She needs...positive influences.” 

“Why can’t I go with you to meet Fred?”

“Don’t ask--”

“It’s fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “You don’t really want to go there. Mr. Andrews works at a construction company. It would ruin your clothes. You can come over.”

“Are you sure your parents won’t mind?” The girl -- Veronica -- asked, her brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t I be intruding?” 

“They’re at work,” Betty said, and she shrugged her shoulders. “It’s fine. Really.” 

“See?” The older woman said. “That’s settled. Be good, Mija. Make good choices.” 

Betty trudged over in the direction of her house, making sure that Veronica was following her over, and she inwardly cursed herself for extending the overture to the other girl. She had wanted to go home and take a long, uninterrupted, nap. 

Charles had had the day off and had agreed to take their younger siblings to Bear Mountain, leaving the house to herself and Jughead, who had sequestered himself in his room, where he kept his Selectric, and informed her that he was going to be busy writing his novel. Her mother had gone into the Register for her normal shift, and her father...well, he was the Sheriff. Betty missed having him around like he’d been in the past, but she understood that the job had requirements, and one of those requirements was additional work when there was an active murder investigation, which, there currently was. 

Betty didn’t consider Cheryl’s death to be much of a loss. Cheryl and Polly had made it their business to terrorize Betty throughout their entire school career, and, frankly, Betty thought that while she wouldn’t have  _ murdered _ either girl, well, it was almost pleasant to hope that the upcoming school year wouldn’t be filled with torment. 

And Hiram Lodge? Betty didn’t have half a clue who he was. 

“My brother is upstairs,” Betty told her. “He won’t bother us, though. He doesn’t have much time to spare for socializing.” 

“Is it just you and your brother?” 

“No,” she said. “My parents...don’t really believe in birth control,” she settled on, and she felt herself flush. “They’ve been married since they were sixteen,” she added. “My older brother was born shortly thereafter.” She gestured to the framed photo on the wall beside them, which featured FP in an ill-fitting suit with his arm around his new, clearly with child, bride. “My dad entered the service to provide for them,” she said. “Mom stayed in Riverdale while he was sent to Vietnam.”

“Charles is 20,” she added. “He lives in Greendale. There’s ten of us.” 

Veronica’s eyes had widened. “Ten?” 

“Well, nine,” Betty said with a shrug. “My mom’s pregnant again.” 

“Does your mom like you?” Veronica asked. 

“Yeah, she likes us,” Betty said, and she led Veronica into the den, where she sank down on the sofa, and patted the spot beside her. Perhaps it was rude to not offer her unexpected guest a drink, but Betty could do that when she regained her bearings. She was still a bit unsettled after her conversation with Archie. “Why do you ask?” 

“My mother doesn’t like me,” Veronica said. “I’m like...a trophy to her. Proof that she and my dad did have the marriage they presented to the world. And now that he’s dead, it’s like she’s realized what an evil person I am.” She sighed. “She dragged me here against my will, and she told me that she was going to  _ marry _ a complete stranger to me.” 

“Mr. Andrews is a disaster,” Betty said, her tone honest. “I don’t know why  _ anyone _ would want to marry him.” 

“She said it was because she wanted to be happy,” Veronica said, with a roll of her eyes. “I think she’s doing it to spite me.”

“Why?” Betty asked. 

“She’s mad because…” Veronica trailed off. “There’s something wrong with me. I have...I have feelings that I shouldn’t have for girls. But I have them for guys, too.” Betty watched her examine her nails. “And she made me come over with you because she thinks you’ll bully those feelings out of me.” 

“I don’t care about that,” Betty said. “I’m not going to  _ bully _ you into changing who you are. I barely even know you.” 

“She saw the crucifix on your neck.” 

Betty’s hand flew to the piece of jewelry. “We’re not like that, Veronica. This is just a necklace. I don’t believe what your mother believes.”

* * *

“Remember,” Alice said, her tone exceedingly patient, as if she was talking to one of her children, and not her theoretical boss, who was a grown adult and really  _ should _ have learned how to behave by now. “We’re here to demand payment from Fred for his delinquent accounts. We’re not here to have a juvenile temper tantrum because Hermione Lodge made you angry.” 

“I just don’t understand what she sees in him!”

“I understand that, Harold, but we need to focus on  _ one _ thing at a time,” she said. “Right now, it’s the fact that Fred owes the Register several thousand dollars, not that he got the girl that you two persist on arguing over.” 

Hal grumbled loudly in response. 

“Honestly, Hal, I think that you could do better than Hermione,” she said, her tone honeyed. “Surely you have higher standards to aspire to than being Fred Andrews’ sloppy seconds?”

“Well, of course I do,” he said. “I just thought that she would take advantage of the opportunity that the...incident provided us and come home and be Polly’s mother. A girl  _ needs _ a mother, Alice. And--”   
  


“Hal,” Alice said. “Don’t you see? Polly is exactly like Hermione, and without you having to actually deal with being  _ with _ Hermione. She terrorizes the girls at the school she goes to, and makes their lives miserable. It’s like anything remotely pleasant about either of you was erased when it came to that child.” 

He scoffed. 

“What? Did I say something you disagree with?” 

“You talk about Hermione like she’s evil, Alice!”

“She abandoned your child,” Alice pointed out. “If you recall correctly, while you were out of town on a business trip. If Charlie hadn’t noticed the infant on your porch, I don’t even want to  _ think _ about what would have happened. It was snowing out. It was November.” 

“That’s true, but people make mistakes--”

“Eleven months later she and Hiram Lodge had had a child of their own,” she reminded him. “A child that she kept, might I add?” 

“And you don’t want Polly to get to know her sister?” 

Alice sighed. “Hal. I want Polly to run away and never return home. She’s a little heathen. But, what good would meeting her sister do? She would be upset that the Lodge child had been kept while she had been thrown away in the garbage.” She wrinkled her nose. “Look, lets just get this over with. You can be angry at Fred later.”

Andrews and Son Construction loomed in front of them, the trailer it was housed in looking rather entirely worse for the wear, and Hal parked the car in an empty space in the parking lot. 

“Hermione’s here,” he said after a moment.

“What? Harold, don’t be ridiculous--”

He pointed in the direction of a car parked in front of the entrance to the trailer, and Alice squinted, trying to make out the person inside of the car. The vehicle was had tinted windows, and they were parked rather far away. She watched the driver’s side door open, and, indeed, Hermione Lodge emerged from the car. 

“I think--”

“It’s fine, Alice.”

“I was just going to say, Harold, that I could go in by myself. Fred has no lack of respect for my listening ears. Hermione wouldn’t care that I was present. Perhaps their inability to keep their mouths shut when they really should be could be played in our favor. Or, if not ours, at least FP’s.”

Hal ran his hand down his face, before he slowly nodded. “Something is going on between the two of them, and I don’t think it’s just an affair. I want to find out what it is. Even if I have to use you to do so.” 

“Yes, well, we know that they won’t say anything to you,” she reminded him. “Fred owes FP money. He’s terrified of refusing me entry.”


	4. better to lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You didn’t know your mother had gotten engaged?” 
> 
> “Mom, I don’t think this is appropriate--”
> 
> “Nonsense, Elizabeth. The poor girl’s father was shot dead. It’s unbelievably insensitive of Hermione and Frederick to insist that they belong together for an eternity within two weeks of it happening.” 
> 
> This was true. Alice felt that their behavior was morally wrong. As a mother, she felt uncomfortable with the fact that Hermione had hid this relationship from her daughter in general, not to mention in light of the circumstances. Was it also true that she wanted to facilitate an affect of being an impartial listener? Yes. But it was for the greater good. The last thing anyone needed was Hal fumbling through trying to use the Lodge girl as a source and the entire operation blowing up in their faces.

“What are you doing here?” Fred demanded, as Hermione appeared in front of his desk, as if by magic. “Hermione? What the hell?” 

“I’m here because you owe me,” she said. “Not only did you not handle things discreetly, your insistence on being a ‘gentleman’ has cost me whatever shreds of a relationship that I could have had with Harold. And you think that I’m just going to go quietly into the shadows? My husband is dead, Fred.” 

“We spoke about this, Hermione--”

“I don’t care what you decided on my behalf. If I wanted someone to decide things on my behalf, I would resurrect Hiram. I am my own person, Fred. I am capable of making my own decisions. And I have decided that what’s right for me and Veronica is starting fresh. Getting away from the city. From our old lives. Moving on. With you.” 

Fred lit a cigarette, barely able to focus on the paperwork in front of him, let alone on any of Hermione’s ramblings. The words that she was saying sounded as if they were in English, but they didn’t make any sense to him. 

“I told you, Hermione--”

“You don’t understand what I am saying,” Hermione hissed, and her eyes flashed. “You are going to tell everyone on your precious Elm Street that you asked me to marry you. That we have fallen in love. That we were star-crossed lovers. I don’t care what you tell them, you are going to sell it. If you don’t, I will have to tell Hal what I know about you. How you lied on the Fourth of July. I don’t think that he’ll be willing to keep that a secret, Fred.”

“You don’t have to tell Hal anything, Hermione.”   
  


She scoffed. “You don’t understand, Fred. Hal  _ saw _ us the other day. When you insisted I stay the night. He could go to the police with his suspicions. He could  _ ruin _ everything I’ve worked  _ so hard _ for. He could saddle me with that brat that I already have to pay  _ money _ for!”

“So? What does that have to do with me?”

“Are you serious? It has  _ everything _ to do with you. If we get married, you get spousal privileges. I won’t breathe a damn word about your involvement. If we don’t? I’ll give Hal a Register exclusive.” 

“You’re blackmailing me.”

“I am offering you a proposition. A  _ mutually _ beneficial proposition, Fred.” 

Fred opened his mouth to speak when the door swung open, and he forced himself to hold his tongue when he identified who his visitor was. 

“Alice.”

“I don’t have time for your pleasantries, Fred,” the blonde woman said as she crossed the room. “Would you care to explain to me why your checks continue to bounce?” 

“My checks to you and FP haven’t bounced--”

“But your checks to the Register have, Fred,” she hissed. “That’s fraud.”

“What do you care about the Register?” Fred asked. “That’s just a job you got because you were bored.” 

Alice fixed him with a look that could have killed, and Fred regretted his choice in comments, though he didn’t disagree with his statement. A woman's place was in the home, and it had been FP encouraging Alice to go back to school for a degree in journalism, and then going so far as to let her work for the Coopers’ paper, that had encouraged Mary to get her degree and become a lawyer. 

“I am an equal contributor to my family,” Alice said, her tone measured. “If FP doesn’t have a problem with my working, where do you get off spouting this utter insanity every time we are faced with ourselves in a capacity where I have to debase myself by treating you as if you are a professional business owner, and not a punchline to a joke? I’m not a broodmare, Fred. I want to work. Just because you took exception to Mary realizing that we didn’t live in the 1950s didn’t mean that that is how things work in my marriage.” 

“You can’t come in here and just start demanding things--”   
  


“Oh? I can’t? Isn’t that interesting. See. Here I was thinking that FP and me being the  _ majority _ owners of this utter hovel meant that I could ‘come in here and start demanding things’. Are you telling me that that isn’t true? That you really want to take this tone for someone who could fire you, just like that? Leave you without  _ any _ source of income? How would you explain that to your mother?” 

Fred gulped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh? Wouldn’t I?” 

“Wait a minute,” Hermione said. “You own Fred’s business?” 

“Alice is exaggerating,” he said. “They gave me a loan. Once!”

“FP has the grand misfortune of being Fred’s silent business partner,” Alice interjected. “And I certainly would tell your mother. I just thank god your father wasn’t alive to see you turn into this.” 

“Turn into what?” Hermione asked. 

“Look at him! Look at this trailer!” Alice gestured around at the state of the office. “No wonder you’re losing clients! Who would want to have  _ this _ working for them? I want the money you owe the Register now, Fred. In cash. Or I will let you two deal with Harold.” 

Fred rolled his eyes. “I’d rather deal with Hal. He’d cut me a deal.” 

“Would he? Given who I’ve found you with?” Alice arched a brow. “Fred. I know you have a drinking problem, but surely you can see why the implication that you’re in a relationship with Hermione would upset Harold?” 

“There’s no implication, Alice.” 

“That’s what it’s going to look like! Why else would she be in this mess?” Alice glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Surely you don’t bring your  _ friends _ here to socialize?” 

“There’s no implication, because it’s true,” Fred said. He drew in a deep breath. “We’re together. We’re going to get married. Hermione and her daughter are moving in with me.” 

“You’re kidding me.”

“No, Alice, I’m not. We’re in love.” 

The expression that Alice had on her face would have been downright comical had it not been directed at him. Was the thought of Hermione and him really being in love so laughable? They had dated back in high school.

“You and Hermione? Are in love?” 

“We’re like...star crossed lovers,” he said. That had been the term that Hermione had used, so he figured it was an apt description. “Don’t you remember, Alice? Back in high school?”

“I remember high school, Fred,” she said, and he watched her composure falter, and heard a giggle escape. “My question is, do you remember high school?”

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Star crossed lovers is an  _ interesting _ term for what you and Hermione were,” she said. “God, Fred, I needed that laugh. Who knew you would provide it? I can’t wait to see the look on Jonesy’s face when I tell him that you almost  _ had _ me there.” He watched her settle her hand on her midsection, which was barely evident in the dress she’d worn. “You can tell me the truth. I won’t tell Harold.” 

“He’s not lying,” Hermione said. “We’re going to be married, Alice. Fred and I have decided that it’s what’s best.” 

“Are you serious? Hermione. You can’t possibly think that Hal will be okay with you living next door to him.” 

“I don’t care what Hal is okay with.” 

“What about your daughter?” 

“Are you talking about the Cooper girl? I’m not going to have anything to do with her. And neither is Veronica.” 

Alice blinked. “How is that going to work? You’re literally going to live in the house next door.” 

“Look, Alice, not everyone is you,” Hermione said. “Settling for the loser boyfriend who knocked you up because you couldn’t afford a condom between the two of you and you certainly couldn’t have afforded yourself anything to eliminate the situation once the rhythm method stopped working. You had no choice but to get married. And it looks like you two never stopped.” She wrinkled her nose. “Pregnant again? What is this? Number 20?” 

“Ten,” Alice said. “Not that it’s any of your concern. At least my husband didn’t end up mysteriously dead in a ditch when I  _ happened _ to be visiting our hometown. Who did that happen to? Oh, right, it happened to you.” 

“What happened with Jason Blossom was a tragedy,” Fred interjected. “Surely you know that accidents happen.” 

“You’re hilarious, Fred. Yes, Charles was unplanned. I hardly think that a baby is comparable to someone’s husband dropping dead. How disrespectful of Hermione’s loss.”

“How much does Fred owe the Register?” Hermione asked. Alice’s eyes lit up. “I’ll pay you in cash.” 

“I’m ever so glad that you asked,” she chirped. “Almost 3K.” 

“What?” Hermione gaped.

“You heard me,” she said. “Maybe that’s a topic the two of you should have discussed before you agreed to get married? What do I know. I’ve only been married for twenty years.” 

* * *

  
  


“They’re hiding something,” Alice announced to Hal, as she slipped back into the car, and brandished a wad of bills in his general direction. “Either they’re hiding something or they think that twenty years and nine children has completely addled my brain and they want to see how gullible they think I am.” She opened her handbag and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with the book of matches she’d swiped from Fred’s desk. The pack of smokes had come from him, too. It was the least he could do for her after having forced her to bear witness to that display of...well, of whatever it was. “Get this: they’re getting married.” 

“Alice, come on,” Hal said, as he counted the money that she’d shoved at him. “You can’t be serious. Do you really expect me to believe that?” 

“I know!” She took a puff of the smoke. “I thought they were kidding, too.” 

“Why would Fred and Hermione get married?” Hal questioned, as he put the car in gear. “That doesn’t make any sense at all. I know that Fred has issues, but surely even he has a sense of pride--”

“They asked me if I remembered how things had been in high school!” Alice had been able to mainly maintain composure while in the presence of the two idiots, but she wasn’t able to stop the peals of laughter when she was alone with Hal in the car. “As if that behavior was a ringing endorsement for them to be in a relationship of any sort? Fred told me that they were ‘star crossed lovers’.” 

Hal scoffed. “Star crossed lovers? Did he have a concussion after that wreck?” 

“Fred might be intoxicated enough to believe that utter codswallop, but I am definitely not. I don’t know why she’s here, or what the two of them think they’re playing at by getting married, but I am not falling for this revisionist history of our high school careers or whatever their relationship consists of.” She rolled her eyes. “The question is, what do we do about it?” 

“They’re living next door to us? Or at the Pembroke?” 

“Next door,” she sighed. “As if I don’t have enough problems with how the neighborhood’s been looking lately. Having to deal with that woman…” She shook her head. “What are people going to think of the company we keep?”

“I’m just thankful that Mother and Father retired to Florida,” Hal said. “I don’t think they’d let Hermione ignoring Polly slide when she’s living next door.” 

“What about you?” 

“Maybe you were right,” he said with a sigh. “Maybe she’s better off without Hermione in her life.” 

“How is that even going to be possible, Harold?” 

“What do you mean?”    
  


She drew in a deep breath, letting the smoke coat her lungs. Hal wasn’t a moron, but she had found that he could be deliberately obtuse. 

“I mean, she’s going to be living next door to you! How are you going to stop her from seeing her?”

“Polly doesn’t know who her mother is,” he said. “I never told her. Could you imagine what my parents would think of her if they knew she was Hermione’s?”

“What did you tell her?” 

“The truth. Her mother left her on my porch, and no one knows who she is.” 

“She’s going to be eighteen, Hal. Shouldn’t you have told her by now?” 

“There wasn’t any point,” he said. “What would I have said? She doesn’t need a mother. I did fine on my own.” 

Alice managed to hold her tongue. Harold’s attempts at parenting had gotten Polly into young adulthood, and it was clear that he loved his daughter. Alice liked being employed, so she managed to make due with smiling sweetly at Hal’s delusions and mocking them with FP when they were both home alone. 

“Of course you did, Hal.” 

“And, Alice, I’m sorry that she said those things about Betty,” he said. “I don’t think that she meant them.” 

“Right.” 

“I can bring her over and have her apologize, if you’d like?” 

Alice sighed. “You mean well, Hal. But, Polly isn’t the type of influence I want around my children. You understand, right?”

“I get it,” he said. “Here we are. Home sweet home.” 

Hal’s house loomed in front of them. Alice sighed. It figured that Hal didn’t have the decency to drive her two houses down. She stubbed her cigarette out into his ashtray and exited the vehicle. “Have a good night, Hal.” 

“Good night, Alice.” 

When Alice and FP had moved into the neighborhood, they had received resistance from the majority of the neighbors. Virginia and Arthur had purchased the young couple a house after they had heard that they were expecting a child, and Alice had been desperate to get out of the Southside. Not so much for herself, but for the baby that she had been pregnant with. It wasn’t safe for her to live in a trailer alone -- not with FP deployed with the Army and her being pregnant -- so she had vowed to deal with the stares and discomfort for the sake of the baby. 

Fred had been one of those people. 

Alice knew that he had been hurt when FP decided that it was better to enlist in the Army than escaping into the wilds of Canada, but she thought that it was ridiculous that he  _ still _ held a grudge. Fred had managed to evade the draft by claiming that he was taking care of his dying father. Maybe he had been, maybe he hadn’t, Alice didn’t know all of the details, she just knew that Fred had hurt her. She had thought that he was FP’s friend, if not hers as well. And he’d treated her like dirt. Treated FP like dirt. 

Alice shook her head. What was done was done. She knew that. She headed up her front porch steps and unlocked the front door. The smell of dinner cooking filled the air, and she smiled appreciatively. Elizabeth was a good daughter. Always willing to help her out. 

“Honey? Is that you?” 

“Mom? We’re in the living room.” 

“We’re?” If Elizabeth had brought over Archibald, she would have her head on a platter, dinner cooking or not. “Who’s with you?” She slipped off her heels before she dared to enter the living room, somewhat relieved when she realized Elizabeth was sitting with another teenage girl, and not her lout of a significant other. “Hello,” she said, and she extended a hand to the girl. “I’m Alice Jones. May I ask who you are?” 

“Veronica,” the girl supplied. “We just moved in next door.” 

Alice blinked. “Veronica Lodge?” She drew in a breath. 

Alice had hated Hermione. Hermione had spent their entire school career terrorizing her. The thought of kicking the girl out was tantalizing. She just.

She couldn’t bring herself to. The girl’s father had been murdered. She was stuck living with Fred. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Jones,” Veronica offered. “You have a lovely home.”

“Yes, well, it helps that my husband and I don’t spend our days in a drunken stupor. I apologize in advance for your mother’s choice in mate, Veronica. Frankly I can’t think of two people who deserve each other more.” 

“Mom!”

“What, Elizabeth? I was merely stating my opinion on the company this poor child is forced to keep.” 

“It’s fine, Betty,” the Lodge girl said. “I don’t exactly want to be a part of my mom’s new family. In fact, this is not what I thought I would be spending my summer vacation doing.” 

Alice elected to sit down on the couch beside Elizabeth and their new neighbor, both because her feet hurt and because she sensed she was in the presence of a valuable resource. It was one thing for Fred not to inform anyone in his life about his upcoming nuptials, but Hermione hadn’t even bothered to inform her own child? That was suspicious indeed. 

“You didn’t know your mother had gotten engaged?” 

“Mom, I don’t think this is appropriate--”

“Nonsense, Elizabeth. The poor girl’s father was shot dead. It’s unbelievably insensitive of Hermione and Frederick to insist that they belong together for an eternity within two weeks of it happening.” 

This was true. Alice felt that their behavior was morally wrong. As a mother, she felt uncomfortable with the fact that Hermione had hid this relationship from her daughter in general, not to mention in light of the circumstances. Was it also true that she wanted to facilitate an affect of being an impartial listener? Yes. But it was for the greater good. The last thing anyone needed was Hal fumbling through trying to use the Lodge girl as a source and the entire operation blowing up in their faces. 

“I want to go back to New York,” Veronica said. “I would rather live in the Dakota alone, without anyone, than live here in Riverdale. But she said if I stepped out of line she would send me away. Is there really a convent for troubled youth here?” 

Alice nodded. “On the outskirts of town.” 

“I told Veronica that Riverdale isn’t all bad,” Betty said. “That there are some good people here, too.” 

“Elizabeth’s right.” Alice was personally dubious. There were people in Riverdale that she tolerated, and even trusted to an extent, but it wasn’t as if she was particularly enamored of the town. “I’m sure that you’ll make friends. Are you going to Riverdale High?”

“Unfortunately. It’s such a downgrade from my old school.”

If FP hadn’t been the Sheriff, Alice would have pulled all of their children from Riverdale Public Schools and sent them to private school, so she deeply emphasized with Veronica. Unfortunately for Alice’s impeccable standards, FP had returned home to Riverdale somewhat of a hometown hero, and they’d had three children under the age of five, so he had had no choice but to take the job that Tom Keller’s old man had offered him at the barracks. He’d been delighted at the opportunity to have a real, proper, job, and be able to justify the house on Elm Street, and support their growing brood. And he’d been good at what he was doing, too. She didn’t begrudge him wanting to do a job that he was good at, that he was proud of. She loved him, very much. She was proud of the fact that she was married to the Sheriff. 

Even if part of her suspected that FP had gotten the job due to the fact that the good folks in Riverdale were even more racist, than they were classist. Tom Keller should have been a shoo in for the job, and the fact that he’d only run against FP once was something Alice found suspicious. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “It’s unfortunate that your mother and Frederick had to pull you away from your school for something so frivolous.” 

“You didn’t think it was frivolous when you and Dad got married,” Betty said. 

“Elizabeth, your father and I had been together for four years before we got married,” she said. She raised a hand to her temple. “And in spite of your brother’s imminent arrival, we still managed to have a properly thought out engagement and wedding. I had to listen to Fred and Hermione try to convince me that they were star-crossed lovers today, like I didn’t spend my high school career watching them make fools out of themselves.” 

“Tell me more,” Veronica commanded, her eyes wide. “I want to know. All of the details.”

“I--”

The door opened, stopping Alice from what she had planned to say. “Mom? Are you home?” 

“In the parlor, Charlie,” she informed her eldest son. “Did you survive your day with my children? You didn’t lose any, did you?” 

“No, not unless you count the ones who are insisting on coming in with Dad.” Charles walked into the room, carrying Jellybean on his shoulders. “Jellybelly missed you.”

“Charlie make me so tall, Mama!” Jellybean chirped. Alice cringed at how high up she was. “Hi Betty! Who that?” 

“This is Veronica, Jellybean,” she said. “Perhaps you would like to meet her? On level ground? Can you put her down, Charlie?” Thankfully for Alice’s blood pressure, Charles did as he was told, and Jellybean scrambled onto her lap. The little one inside of her rewarded its big sister with a kick. Jellybean giggled. “You said your father was outside?” 

“Uh huh,” Jellybean chirped, as she kissed her on the cheek. “He’s outside with Cici and Daisy.” 

Which made sense, as Katherine and Rosemarie had bypassed politely greeting their guest entirely, while Olivia was clinging tightly to Charles’ hand. She was eying Veronica warily. 

“Come give me a hug,” Alice told her. “It’s all right, Olivia. This is Veronica. She’s Betty’s new friend.” 

“Baby kicking,” Jellybean cooed, her gaze solely focused on the little one that was inside of Alice. “When she gonna come out?” 

“Not for a few more months, sweetie,” she said. “She has to get big and strong, yeah?” 

“Baby could be a boy, Alice,” FP chimed in, and she glanced up from the girls, a genuine smile coming to her lips. “You never know. I managed that twice.” 

“Oh, Jonesy. I’d love a boy.” Her smile blossomed into a grin. “I just want the baby to be healthy, really. Come here, give me a kiss. I missed you.” 

FP crossed the room to where she sat, and he leaned over, and brushed his lips against hers. She wanted to deepen the kiss, but was mindful of the presence of others. Specifically, the presence of Veronica. “Missed you, too,” FP said, and he grinned crookedly at her. “You think the baby’s kicking, Jelly?” 

Jellybean nodded. “Uh huh, yeah, Daddy. Kicking for me and Livvy.” 

“You think you might be willing to help me feel?” 

The girls nodded eagerly. Alice sank back against the couch cushions. “I know you know how to feel the baby kick,” she mouthed, as FP’s hand was pressed against her abdomen by his eager helpers. “The two of you are so nice to help your dad.” She smiled at them. “Jonesy, Elizabeth has brought a friend over for us to meet.” 

Just because Alice was momentarily distracted by being doted on didn’t mean that she had forgotten her manners. 

“Yeah, Dad,” Betty said in agreement. “This is Veronica. She lives next door.” 

“Fred and Hermione are engaged to be married,” Alice informed him, her eyes wide. “This is Hermione’s daughter. I told her she was more than welcome to spend time here.” 

“Uh, well, that’s interesting to know about Fred,” FP said to her. “But, Mrs. Jones is right,” he said. “Any friend of Elizabeth’s is welcome here.” 

“But not Archie,” she said hastily. “He’s not the type of influence we want around our children.” 

“I don’t even know Archie,” Veronica said. “I’ve never met him. I’ve never even been inside his house. Mom pawned me off on Betty the first chance she could get.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m Sheriff Jones,” he said. “He gives you any trouble. You let me know.” 


	5. a problem house

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look, Penelope,” Hal said. “I get that you believe that Cheryl’s death isn’t a Grecian tragedy, or whatever, but the fact of the matter is that the citizens of Riverdale do. I can’t post an article talking about how grateful you are that Jason killed his twin, when the facts are that he might not have, and that it would decimate readership of the paper. If it was just me that that affected I might consider it, but it doesn’t. I have employees, Penelope. They rely on me to make smart choices that aren’t ridiculous.” He ran his hand through his hair. “And for what it’s worth? They’re not even sure that Jason was the one who shot her.”
> 
> “What?” 
> 
> “You heard me.”

“I swear, I didn’t kill Cheryl,” Jason protested, as he paced back and forth in his cell. “One minute she was  _ fine _ and the next there was a gunshot and she was dead!”   
  


“I’d love to believe you, son,” Detective Keller said. “But, the fact is, that two people are dead, and your parents seem to think that you’d have had the motive to kill one of them.”

“That’s because  _ they _ wanted her to die,” he insisted. “They thought that her dalliances with the Vixens were abnormal. And they were! They went against everything that we’d been taught. But she was my twin. I didn’t want her to die. I wanted her to be healed.” 

“Healed? What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing! Just that my parents had looked into a program for people like her,” he said. “The Sisters of Quiet Mercy? They have a program for people with Cheryl’s...abnormalities. Not that it matters now. She’s dead. And someone killed her!”

“The two of you were the only ones on the lake that morning,” Keller reminded him. “Who else could it have been?” 

“What about Lodge?” Jason asked. “The other victim? Do you really think that he was alone?” 

“Hiram Lodge was found by Fred Andrews and his dog,” Keller said. “There was no sign of a weapon, no sign of anything out of the ordinary.” 

Jason scoffed. “Polly came by the other day,” he informed him. “I was allowed a visitor. She told me that Fred and Hiram’s widow are engaged to be married. Doesn’t that seem a little...fast to you?” 

“What are you saying, Jason? You think that Fred and Hermione were the ones who shot your sister?” 

“It just seems a little strange to me,” he said. “Would a grieving widow really run off to get married before her husband’s autopsy was even complete?” 

“I--”

“I know that my parents have decided that making me appear guilty is the best way to mitigate the family’s shame,” Jason admitted. “But you have to admit that their inaction to find justice makes them seem downright culpable? The Register certainly seems to think so.” 

“You’ve been reading the Register?” 

“Not like there’s anything else to do here.” 

“That’s because you’re in prison, son,” Detective Keller said. “This isn’t some ritzy resort, or a private island. We’re not here to entertain you.” 

“You don’t think I know that?” Jason demanded. “I also know that I could have been bailed out and my parents couldn’t be bothered to do that, could they?” 

“They said that they didn’t have the money--”   
  


“That’s bull. They  _ have  _ the money, they just think that it’s shameful that her death was publicised. They wanted her done away with quietly, Detective Keller. Her and those girls that she had those immoral relationships with on the squad. The only reason they care at all about her death is that  _ everyone  _ in Riverdale knows about it. They’re pretending to be mourning parents because it’s what’s done. What’s expected of them. The same can’t be said of Hermione Lodge.”

“Ms. Lodge was at her residence when her husband was shot,” Keller protested. “She told us that she was in New York City. At the Dakota.” 

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Wouldn’t I what?” 

“Wouldn’t you say what made you look best? Lie about being out of town? Why would she have admitted that she was in Riverdale when her husband bit it?” 

“Jason, you can’t just speculate whether or not you think that Hermione Lodge was in town the day her husband was shot--”

“We  _ saw _ them,” Jason said. “Fred and Hermione. The day before Cheryl died. They were having a discussion in Fred’s garage. It got pretty heated.” 

“Why didn’t you say this before?” Keller asked him. Jason shrugged. 

“Didn’t see much point,” he admitted. “Figured my parents would get sick of a child dead and a child in jail and I could put this behind me. Since, it turns out that’s not the case, I figured now was the time to talk.” 

“You’d go on the record with the Sheriff?” 

“What choice do I have? My parents won’t pay for me to get a lawyer.” 

* * *

“I said no, Penelope,” Hal said with a sigh, as he inwardly cursed Alice for leaving him to deal with the Register’s unwanted visitor. “I can’t let you and Clifford use my paper as your mouthpiece like that!”

“Oh, honestly, Harold. What’s the problem with what we wrote for you?” 

“The problem is that you wrote an  _ entire _ article thanking whomever killed your  _ daughter _ for doing God’s honest work and eliminating your family’s sin! I can’t publish this! It’s offensive on so many different levels, Penelope.” 

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Cheryl was an abomination,” she said. “I’m just upset that it happened before the nuns beat the sin out of her. They’re refusing to give us our deposit back.” 

Hal drew in a deep breath. “See, that’s the problem. The public doesn’t want to read about...things of that nature, Penelope. They read the Register so that they can start their days with an informed mind, not so they can read about...conversion methods that the barbarian nuns partake in over at the home for troubled youth. What would people think if we told them that the Sisters of Quiet Mercy has those programs? They might not want to send their children there anymore.” 

“Your mother was the one who invented those programs--”   
  
“And my mother is a wonderful woman,” Hal agreed. “But you have to admit that she was a bit unhinged. Fanatical, if you will?” 

“I thought you would understand why we needed her out of the picture--”

“This is my job, Penelope. I can’t publish pieces like this. I would lose advertisers, readers, it would not be a good idea. Not to mention it would probably catch the eye of the board of trustees.”

“The board? They’d be pleased that we rid ourselves of Cheryl.” 

“Probably,” he allowed. “But do you think they want the public face of Blossom Maple Farms going on the record and associating themselves with this?” He gestured to the sheaf of papers. “They might stage a coup.”

“They wouldn’t--”

“Wouldn’t they?” 

“Hal!”

“Look, Penelope,” Hal said. “I get that you believe that Cheryl’s death isn’t a Grecian tragedy, or whatever, but the fact of the matter is that the citizens of Riverdale do. I can’t post an article talking about how  _ grateful  _ you are that Jason killed his twin, when the facts are that he might not have, and that it would  _ decimate _ readership of the paper. If it was just me that that affected I  _ might _ consider it, but it doesn’t. I have employees, Penelope. They rely on me to make smart choices that aren’t ridiculous.” He ran his hand through his hair. “And for what it’s worth? They’re not even sure that Jason was the one who shot her.”

“What?” 

“You heard me.” 

“Why are they even  _ bothering _ to further investigate? The only crime that occurred was him being caught.” 

“Penelope--”

“What?”

“Cheryl  _ wasn’t _ the only person who died that day,” Hal said. He was suddenly exhausted. “Hiram Lodge was killed, too. You are the  _ only _ person who takes it at face value that Jason did that, in addition to killing his sister.”

“Hiram Lodge was collateral damage,” she said, her tone pointed. “Sometimes innocent people have to die to do what’s right, Harold. Surely you don’t consider Hiram Lodge to be a loss?” 

“He has a daughter, Penelope--”

“Right,” she purred, her tone simpering. “I suppose that you’re expecting me to consider her feelings?” 

“This isn’t about feelings,” he snapped. “This about what I’m not going to do. You don’t control me, and neither does Clifford. Given that there’s an  _ open _ investigation going on about your daughter’s death, wouldn’t you hate to be implicated in it based on your words?” 

“They would never--”

“I think that they would. I think that we  _ both _ know that they would.” 

Penelope drew in a sharp breath. “I’m a Blossom--”

“Everyone knows that parents can snap and kill their children, Penelope. You’d have the perfect motive. This article is practically acknowledging your guilt.” 

“I didn’t kill her--”

“I know that, Penelope,” he said. “Mainly because you prefer to let others do your dirty work. But the public won’t. They’ll take your words at face value. Do you want to be sent to jail? Like Jason?” Penelope shook her head. “I didn’t think so. Do you have anything else to bother me with today?” 

“I heard that Hermione is back in town,” she said. “Tell me the truth, Hal. Are you picking her over me?”   
  


“Over you? There is  _ no _ ‘us’, Penelope. But since you ask about Hermione, no, we’re not together. Her arrival in town has nothing to do with me.” 

“That’s a shame,” she said. “You always talk about how a child needs both of their parents.” 

“Hermione made her choices,” Hal said, and he pushed his chair away from his desk, and stood up. He didn’t have the desire to deal with Penelope much longer. “I’ve made mine. Sometimes life doesn’t work out how we want it to. I don’t tell you how to handle the fact that you’re married to your brother, Penelope. Don’t you dare tell me how to parent my daughter.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me.” 

“I thought you understood that I didn’t have a choice,” she snapped. “The Blossoms made me--”

“I understand that,” he said. “That doesn’t change the fact that you could have gotten a divorce by now. Had the marriage  _ annulled  _ if you didn’t want to deal with the sin. You married your brother! There were ways to handle it that didn’t involve remaining married.”

“Why don’t you be quiet?”

“I could say the same to you.”

“With Cheryl dead and Jason in jail, I might have a chance to leave. Not if you people  _ ruin _ it by proving that Jason didn’t kill her! What is  _ wrong _ with you?”

“Me? You’re the one who wants her son to rot in jail because you don’t want to get a divorce. Don’t you dare blame this on me. I’m not the one who lived a lifestyle filled with perversion. Anyone with half a brain knows that Jason was too stupid to kill his twin. Not to mention that he wouldn’t have wasted his time killing Hiram Lodge because he doesn’t know who he is.”

“I need to protect myself,” Penelope said after a moment. “Jason can handle prison.” 

“He’s your son,” Hal said. “You don’t care that Cheryl is dead? That’s fine. How can you be so uncaring about your only living child going to prison for two murders he  _ didn’t _ commit? How are you so sure that Clifford won’t want a replacement set of heirs?”

Penelope turned a rather fetching shade of white. “A replacement set?”

“Sure. Probably needs a suitable person to leave the family business to. You’re young enough to be his broodmare.” 

“I thought it would be over--”

“Did you? Clearly you didn’t think hard enough.” 

* * *

For the most part, Veronica had adjusted to her new life in Riverdale. She spent her days avoiding her mother and her mother’s new fiance, and did her best to give the red-headed boy that would become her stepbrother a wide berth, a quest that was mainly helped by the fact that she had befriended the girl next door. Archie was still upset that Betty had broken up with him, and considered Veronica’s friendship with the girl to be an utter betrayal. For her part, Veronica didn’t see what Betty had seen in Archie in the first place. It was possible that she was missing something, but he was...well. Veronica thought he was a cad. 

Riverdale wasn’t New York City, but she supposed that it wasn’t all bad. 

Fred and Archie were obnoxious, but whatever. She could get through her senior year and begone. 

She picked up the day’s paper from the front porch and bit back a sigh at the headline. 

**BLOSSOM TELLS ALL **

She was  _ tired _ of what had happened to her father being front page news. It was blatantly obvious that her mother had arranged for his demise and that of the other girl when she had sensed the presence of another person to blame. Which was. Whatever. It wasn’t fine, but what could Veronica do? She couldn’t exactly accuse her own mother based on hearsay. 

Well. She supposed that she could. 

She just really couldn’t be bothered. 

Her mother had barely given her the time of day since she had spoken to Fred, and that was fine with Veronica. She didn’t need Hermione to acknowledge her. Every time she did, she ended up getting hurt. It was better to just ignore her. 

The girl that lived in the house next door was on her front porch, and Veronica offered a wave of acknowledgement. Betty had mentioned that Polly Cooper was distinctly unfriendly, and Veronica had no desire to become friends with her, but she hadn’t mentioned that the Cooper girl appeared to be Hispanic. Or at least. Partly. 

Riverdale had seemed the exact opposite of diverse to her, so it was nice to see that there were other races living on Elm Street. 

The Cooper girl scowled. 

“Being polite doesn’t cost you anything,” Veronica said. “Maybe you should try it, once in awhile. Aren’t you afraid your face will freeze like that?” 

“Don’t you know anything about how this town works?” 

Veronica rolled her eyes. “I don’t care about impressing you,” she said. “I have my own friends. You can find someone else to threaten.” 

“Don’t tell me, you’re friends with those losers?” 

“Betty isn’t a loser,” Veronica snapped. “She’s my friend. Just because she doesn’t cheerlead and snort coke instead of cheerios for breakfast, doesn’t mean that she’s a loser. What are you going to do now? Your boyfriend’s in jail and your ruler is dead.”

“Cheryl wasn’t the one in charge,” she purred. “That, you will find, was me. As for Jason? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He can’t expect me to remain faithful forever while he’s locked up in a cage like an animal. No, there’s a new order in town, and your dweeb of a friend accidentally helped insure it.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“With Cheryl dead, I take over as captain of the Vixens,” Polly said. “And with Jason...indisposed and giving my dad articles in the hopes that he’ll spring him from jail, Archie becomes captain of the Bulldogs. You had every chance to align yourself with the right people, Lodge.”

“I don’t need alliances, Polly,” Veronica sputtered. “Not with people like you.” 

“People like me?” 

“How can you be so callous about what happened to that girl? She was your boyfriend’s sister, and all you care about is the fact that you get to attain her position on the cheerleading squad? And you don’t even care about your boyfriend, either. If you cared about Jason you wouldn’t be trying to date Archie behind his back.”

“If you cared about your reputation, you wouldn’t be friends with the daughter of a Jones.”

“I don’t care about my reputation,” Veronica told her. “Betty’s parents have been nothing but pleasant to me since I moved here. She’s my friend. That’s more important to me than being popular.” 

“That’s noble of you, Veronica,” Polly said. Her tone made it clear she meant the exact opposite. “Enjoy spending time with the Riverdale High loser club. Betty and her crew of rejects.” 

“Better a reject than being  _ your _ pawn.” 


	6. shoved in my face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “V…” Betty trailed off. Veronica heard her draw in a deep breath. “Mr. Andrews was the one who called in the murders. You don’t think it was him, do you?”
> 
> “I don’t know. What do you think?” 
> 
> “I don’t know,” she said after a moment of silence. “I know that he was never questioned. He was thought to be a concerned bystander. He was gone by the time the cops showed up.”

“I just don’t understand what she meant,” Veronica told Betty as she perched on the foot of her bed. “Why did she say that I shouldn’t want to be friends with you?”

“She doesn’t like me,” Betty said. “She doesn’t like that my mom and dad were from the wrong side of the tracks and made good, and she doesn’t like that my dad kept Mr. Keller on the force after he became Sheriff. People have a problem with the fact that Kevin and Josie are black.” She wrinkled her nose. “They don’t think that Mrs. Keller knows her place.” 

“And what place do they think  _ that _ is?” Veronica demanded. 

“Well, you know,” she said. “They didn’t like that she went to law school and became a lawyer,” she elaborated. “And they certainly don’t like the fact that she wasn’t discouraged by the lack of reception to her passing the Bar and managed to get a job in the City.”   
  


“But why does Polly care?” 

“Because she’s a Northsider,” she said. “They’re all...they think that they’re better than everyone else. Especially Polly. She’s a Cooper.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Veronica pointed out, once Betty had lapsed into a silence that made it clear that the statement of Polly being a Cooper stood for itself. 

“Oh, right,” she said. “The Coopers are old money. They were one of the founding families of the town. Polly is...a victim of her circumstances, that’s all. I don’t blame her for how she was brought up.”

“But her dad works with your mom.”

“My mom fought tooth and nail to get where she is in life, Veronica. The fact that she got a job working with the Register is miraculous. I’m not going to jeopardize that by having her try to make Polly Cooper be quiet.”   
  


“B, your mom loves you--”   
  


“I know she does.”   
  


“Does she even know that Polly has made you the target of this campaign of hate?” 

Betty nodded. “It’s not just me,” she said. “It’s all of us. She thinks that people who have dirty Southside blood shouldn’t get to have parents who are married when she doesn’t even know who her mom is.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Plus, she hated that Archie and I were together. She thought that having a relationship with him was her right as Hal Cooper’s daughter. Like being Archie’s fiancee was something to be jealous of. As far as I’m concerned? Polly can have him. I don’t want to be in that world anymore.” 

“What world?” 

“I don’t want to be Archie’s wife,” she whispered, and she sat down on the bed beside Veronica. “I thought that he was just saying things. I mean. We were kids. All I did was teach him how to read. Is that worthy of a genuine proposal?” She let out a sigh. “One minute it was a joke and the next we were going steady and when he bought me that ring…” She trailed off. “Dad got really pissed off at him.” She sighed. “I guess I went along with it because I thought that it was what was right. I just don’t think that I’ve ever felt the things that I’m supposed to feel for Archie.” 

“Utter revulsion?” Veronica was mainly kidding. But, at the same time, she really wasn’t. The limited interactions she’d had with Archie had made her patience fray. “Seriously, B. He’s a disgusting pervert. I don’t blame you for not wanting to be married to him.”   
  


“Do normal people expect people to be held to promises made when they were eight years old?” 

“Not when they’re proposals of marriage,” she said. “He was trying to control you.” 

Betty sighed. “I thought it was romantic, at first,” she admitted. “I mean, Mom and Dad got married when they were our age, and they’re still in love.” 

“B…” She trailed off, and attempted to collect her thoughts. She really didn’t want to offend Betty. “Your dad is nothing like Archie,” she said. “From what I’ve seen, he treats your mother like she’s a human being, and doesn’t spend his days following in Fred’s lecherous footsteps.” She sighed. “And, about the marriage, you know that they  _ had _ to get married, right? I don’t deny that they seem to love each other, but…”

“I know,” she said. She sighed. “I know that if Mom hadn’t been pregnant with Charlie, they would have waited to get married. Maybe they wouldn’t have gotten married at all. I don’t know. I just know that they’re my parents, V. I’ve always been one to emulate them, and Archie  _ knew  _ that, and he -- he knew that fact and he used it to manipulate me.” She drew in a breath. “He knew that it was what I knew and he was willing to use that knowledge to  _ trap _ me, and--”

“And you broke up with him,” Veronica reminded her. “And it’s going to be okay.”

“Are you sure?” 

Veronica nodded. “Of course, B. Who cares what Archie thinks?” 

“Everyone at school,” she whispered. “He’s the captain of the football team. Now that Jason’s in jail.” 

“And that’s  _ all _ he’s going to be,” she insisted, and she reached over to cover Betty’s hand with hers. “You’re going to do amazing things, Betty, and Archie is going to be the washed up hometown hero, who couldn’t escape the confines of this town. He’s going to end up bellied up to that bar on the other side of the Sweetwater.”

“Are you talking about the Whyte Wyrm?” 

“I don’t know,” she said. “I only saw it for a moment when we were coming here from New York. It looked like a real dive.” 

Betty sniffled. “I would say that would be an accurate description,” she said, and she swiped at her face. “But Archie’s not allowed at that bar. Don’t you know who owns it?”   
  


“No, should I?” 

“I can’t imagine that it's common knowledge over at the house next door,” Betty allowed. “I’m pretty sure that Frank is considered the Andrewses’ dirty little secret.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re so oversensitive.” 

“Who’s Frank?” 

Betty gave her a sly grin. “Frank? He’s your new uncle. He took over the Serpents after my grandfather died. Dad didn’t want to become their King, and Frank stepped into the role. He’s Mr. Andrews’ brother.”

“Fred has a secret brother? I am intrigued.”

“He’s not a  _ secret _ brother,” Betty said. “He’s friends with my parents.” 

“I wonder why Fred doesn’t mention him?” 

“It’s Fred. He hates the Southside. He just pretends not to.” Betty shook her head. “If I were you, V? I might just leave things how they are.” 

“What if I can’t, though? What if he knows why my dad died?” 

“You don’t think it was Jason?” 

Veronica shook her head. “No. I mean, maybe he killed his twin. But, why would he have killed my dad? That seems so foolish of him. He doesn’t have a motive. I think that he’s being used as a scapegoat.”

“V…” Betty trailed off. Veronica heard her draw in a deep breath. “Mr. Andrews was the one who called in the murders. You don’t think it was him, do you?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?” 

“I don’t know,” she said after a moment of silence. “I know that he was never questioned. He was thought to be a concerned bystander. He was gone by the time the cops showed up.”

“If he did…” Veronica allowed herself to lapse into silence. She didn’t want to think of the potential of living with a murderer. “I have to know, B. Please. You have to help me.” 

“Of course. I’ll do anything that I can.” 

“Even if it means going to that bar?” 

“I don’t have a problem with going to the Wyrm. I just don’t know if they’d let us in. It depends on their clientele for the evening. Not everyone is happy that the Sheriff was once a Serpent. I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“What about your dad? Do you think he’d be willing to help me?” 

“I’ll ask him.” 

* * *

  
  


“Mmm, fancy seeing you here, Mrs. Jones. Thought you’d be off at the paper all day.” 

Not that FP minded seeing Alice while he was at work, it was in fact the exact opposite, but he knew that working at the paper was important to her, even though they made enough money so that she could stay at home with the kids. He had been insistent that Alice go to college and get her degree -- she had always wanted to go to school and study journalism, and when they’d finally been secure enough that it was feasible to do so, he had convinced her that it was okay to follow her dreams. That it wasn’t selfish of her to want to be more than what she was. 

“Oh, you know,” Alice said. “Hal’s idiot cousin came over to bitch and moan about why he won’t print some article she wrote, so I decided to take my leave. I have no desire to be in Penelope’s presence.” She looked as if she was sucking on a lemon.

“I can’t blame you for that.” He grinned at her. “So you decided to come visit me?” 

“Of course, Jonesy.” She matched his grin with one of her own. “I thought about going home, but that wouldn’t be particularly relaxing, what with all of our brood around.” 

He chuckled, and he pushed his chair away from his desk and stood, before heading across the room to her. “Yeah, they’re not known for giving us a lot of peace.” He pulled her into a hug. “I’m glad you came to visit, Al.” 

“Me too,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “I’m just glad that you’re not busy. You’re not, are you?”

“Never too busy for you,” he said, and he tugged her closer, her bump pressed flush to him. “Never too busy for either of you. You know that, right, Allie?” 

“I know. It’s still nice to hear.” 

“I’ll say it whenever you want,” he said, and he released her, only to run his hand down her belly. “Hi sweetie,” he whispered. “What are you up to in there?” 

“She’s just waking up now,” she told him. “Eager to play with her daddy.” 

“Well,” he said, as he lowered himself so that he was eye level with her abdomen, “sounds like it’s her lucky day. Daddy would be  _ delighted _ to have fun with her. Maybe with you, too, if you feel up to it.”

Alice giggled. “Yeah, Jonesy. I won’t say no to you.”

“Here?” 

She nodded. “Mmm, yeah, if you lock the door?”

“You don’t fancy being caught?” He smirked. “That doesn’t get you going?” 

“Well, it does, a little,” she admitted. “I just have to think of your professional reputation. How would I be able to use my fringe benefits of being married to the Sheriff if your reputation was ruined because the wrong person walked in on us?” 

“We wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?” He licked his lips, and he pressed his palm to her belly, before he reluctantly pulled away from her. “I’ll go lock it,” he said. “Give us some privacy.” 

“Don’t take very long,” she said, as she settled herself in his chair. “I don’t want to get too comfortable. I might accidentally fall asleep.” 

“I don’t have a problem with that, either,” he said, and he stepped into the hallway. “That might be your safest bet, anyways.”   
  


“What? Why?” 

“Our daughter and that new friend of hers are coming down the hallway,” he said, and he let out a sigh. “I don’t think that that’s a side of us you want them exposed to.” 

From his desk, Alice let out a sigh, and he pulled a face. “Maybe you could figure out what it is they want and send them on their way?”

“I’ll do my best, babe.” 

“You always do.” 

“You hungry?” 

Alice nodded. “Pretty much constantly at this stage of the game.” 

“There’s some candy in my drawer,” he said, and he crossed the room to return to her. “I think the girls could be persuaded to get you something from Pops, if you wanted.” 

“Let’s see what they want from you, first,” she sighed. “God only knows what sort of disasters could have happened. Give me the candy.” 

“Are Skittles okay?” 

“For an appetizer,” she said. “The baby wants chocolate.” 

“If the baby wants chocolate, that’s what the baby will get,” he said, and he opened the desk drawer to reveal a stash of junk food, and he pulled out the requested candy. “You want a drink?” 

Alice shook her head. “Just water, Jonesy. It’s fine. I can get it myself.” 

He brushed a kiss to her forehead. “You rest, babe. I’ll be right back.” He sighed. “Try not to interrogate them too much without me. And, you be good to Mama, little one.”   
  


“The baby’s always good,” she told him. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll play nicely with the girls.” 

“Alice--”

“I will! Jonesy. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

“I know you will,” he said, as the door to his office swung open, revealing both Betty and Veronica. “I’ll be with you in a second, girls. I’m just going to get your mother something to drink.” 

Betty nodded. “Okay, Dad,” she said. “We’ll just wait here.”   
  


“Sit,” he said. “Make yourselves comfortable.” 

* * *

  
  


“I have to admit that I’m surprised to see the two of you here, Elizabeth,” Alice admitted as she surveyed the two teenagers who were sat in identical chairs across from her. “And with Veronica? I wasn’t aware that you and Veronica had planned to visit your father at work today.” 

“We wanted to surprise him,” Betty said. “Veronica just has some questions about what happened with her dad, that’s all.” 

Alice pursed her lips. “Your father must be rolling in his grave, Veronica, with the speed that your mother has moved on from him. And with Fred Andrews, of all the people.” 

“That’s what we wanted to talk to Dad about,” Betty said. “We saw that article in today’s paper, Mom, and--”

Alice’s brows rose, and she beckoned for the newspaper that Elizabeth held under her arm. 

“Jason’s claiming that he’s innocent,” Veronica said. “He gave Mr. Cooper an exclusive interview.” 

“Hal spoke to Jason?” Alice sighed. “I suppose that it’s to his credit that the barracks are still standing.” She reached out for the newspaper, which Betty had placed on the desk in front of her. “What does this have to do with your father, though?” 

“Dad  _ has _ to know something about the case,” Betty said. “Mom, he has to. I don’t want Veronica to be living in the house with a murderer!”

“You think Hermione did this?” 

“No, Mom. I think it was Archie’s dad.” 

“Those are some heady accusations, Elizabeth--”

“Are they? Jason obviously didn’t kill his sister, or at the very least he didn’t kill Mr. Lodge. How could he have killed him from on the boat? Don’t you find it suspicious that Mr. Andrews just  _ happened _ to be there at that time walking his dog? He didn’t even stick around after he called it in.”   
  


“What are you talking about, Elizabeth?” 

“I was there,” Betty said. “When Dad took that phone call. I know what I heard, Mom. Wouldn’t an innocent person have stayed?” 

“I--”

It was rare that Alice had been rendered speechless, but she had to admit that she was currently not sure what to say to the children. It was a sensation that she wasn’t fond of. It was true that that behavior of Fred’s was suspicious, if Elizabeth was telling the truth. And it wasn’t as if she thought that Betty was lying. She just preferred not to think of her next door neighbor as a murderer. But what if he was? She couldn’t in good conscience tell the girls that they were imagining things, could she? That would be negligent. 

“I think that we need to talk to your father about this,” Alice said after a moment. “I understand where the two of you are coming from, but he  _ needs _ to know about this, Elizabeth.”

“Know about what, Al?”    
  


“The girls think that Fred Andrews killed Cheryl Blossom,” Alice informed FP, as she took a sip of the water that he’d handed her. “I don’t entirely think that they’re wrong.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Elizabeth told me how Fred was the witness to this supposed tragedy,” she said, as she munched on a handful of Skittles. “How she found it suspect that he wouldn’t have stuck around the scene to try to help either of the victims, how convenient it was that he managed to even leave the scene without a single witness seeing him?” 

She placed the paper on the desk, and pointed to the damning quote from Jason Blossom. “See? Read that.” 

“I never saw Fred Andrews,” FP read, as he took the paper in his hands and held it close enough to see without his glasses. “He never came over to check on Cheryl. There was no sign of any adults, or a dog. I had no idea that Fred was even claiming to be the reason that the police came until it was published in the Register…”

“Dad--”

“What?” 

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Betty said. “I just want Veronica to be safe.” 

“You aren’t the cause of any trouble,” the Lodge girl said. “If anyone caused trouble, it’s Fred, and my mother.”

FP let the paper fall onto the desk. “Hey, kid, you’re not causing trouble. Don’t think that way. It’s okay. The two of you were right to come to me. Okay?” 

“I don’t want to ruin anyone’s lives,” she whispered. 

Alice sighed. “Elizabeth. Fred and Archie do a damn good job of ruining lives on their own. You needn’t worry about doing so on their behalf.”


	7. apologies are dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Breaking news. Local business owner discovers his loyal investigative reporter was right. See tomorrow’s Register for more information.”

“What the hell is this?” 

“The Register is closed for the evening,” Hal informed the person who had dared to darken his door. “If you have a complaint, the customer service telephone line is on your newspaper. Leave a message, and someone will call you back.”

Or not. Hal didn’t much care for the readers of the Register who complained. Especially if they knew him personally. It was a small town, and Hal knew most everyone on at least a superficial level, though he had to admit that expanding the Register’s footprint throughout the entire county had been a smart decision on Alice’s part. They’d had readers rise in amounts that his parents had never seen, even in the Register’s heyday. 

“You want me to call the customer service telephone line?” The visitor demanded, her tone hardened. “After all I’ve done for you? Given you a child--”   
  


“Ah, Hermione,” Hal said. “I was wondering when you would see my latest scoop. I’m surprised you managed to get a copy, you know. It’s sold out pretty much everywhere.” 

“How dare you print such lies about Hiram’s death?” Hermione said. “The Blossom boy did it. End of story.” 

Hal rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so naive, Hermione. Jason Blossom is an asshole. He was too good for  _ my _ daughter. But that doesn’t mean that he’s a killer.” 

“People are going to ask questions, Hal. They’re going to start nosing around in  _ my _ life. Is that something that you want to have happen?” Hermione crossed her arms. She wore a disgusted sneer. “They’re going to wonder, if Jason didn’t kill Hiram, who did?” 

“Isn’t that what you wonder too?” Hal asked, as he took a sip of his brandy. “I mean, Hermione. Your husband was murdered. Surely you have questions to ask.”   
  


“Do you really think I care about Hiram? He ruined my life. He was just as  _ stupid  _ as you were but he forced me to go through with giving him a heir. He wouldn’t stand for me walking out of her life, even though I pointed out that I had done so with Polly, and she had been fine. He expected me to sit at home and be his perfect little housewise.” 

She shook her head. “I’m not anyone’s Alice Jones, Hal. Not yours, not Fred’s, and certainly not Hiram’s. If I had had it my way, that little deviant would have been sent to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy.”   
  


“Why would you have done that?”   
  


“Because, it’s what she deserves,” she sniffed. “She doesn’t deserve to be under Fred’s roof.”

“I could take her?”   
  


“And risk her figuring out that she’s not an only child? I don’t think so, Hal. No. She can go to a good, Catholic, home. Tell me, do you think that Alice and FP would notice another child?” 

Hal choked on a sip of brandy. “Yes, I think Alice and FP would notice another child! They’re not accessories, Hermione. Most people notice how many children they have.” 

She pursed her lips. “Fine. Do you think they’d mind taking in a charity case? Archibald is upset that she’s rejecting her place in his home.” 

“And that’s your solution? Having Veronica move in with the Joneses? I mean, hell, that’s great for them. At least you’ve warned someone about your plans. She’s old enough not to nearly die of consumption.”   
  


“She wasn’t supposed to live,” she hissed. “I knew that you were gone. I didn’t want to deal with her. How was I supposed to know that Alice’s children were as nosy as she was?” 

“You--”   
  


“Honestly, Hal. You had to know that I didn’t want her.”   
  


“I knew that you didn’t want her,” he said hesitantly. “I just didn’t realize you wanted her dead.” 

“She was an infant. It would have been a mercy.”   
  


Hal forced himself to push down his feelings about how Hermione felt about Polly, as he pondered the relation of those thoughts to the situation at hand. Had Hermione truly had something to do with Hiram’s death? He hadn’t been certain. Alice had thought there was something suspicious about the coincidental visit that she had made to Fred’s, but he had pushed his logical, inner reporter, aside in order to focus on what he’d assumed was Hermione having the nerve to cheat on him. Was it even cheating? Or was he just someone that she kept in her back pocket when Hiram wasn’t providing for her? 

“I’m sorry if today’s newspaper upset you,” he said, his tone modulated, and perfectly professional. “Please make a complaint with our customer service.” 

“What?” 

“I can’t help you, Hermione. Not anymore.”

“Why? Because I said that I didn’t care if Polly had lived?” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Did you need something, Mr. Cooper?” Betty asked her mother’s boss when she opened the door to reveal the man, looking rather worse for the wear. “Is something the matter?” 

“I need to speak with your parents,” he said. “Are they home?”

She nodded, though rather reluctantly. “Yes, hold on a second,” she said. “You want to speak to both of them?”

“I don’t want to speak with them,” he said, and he ran his hands through his hair, an expression of nervousness on his face, which Betty found interesting to see. The only expression (that wasn’t pride) that she’d seen on the face of a Cooper had been anger, and that was on Polly, not her father. “I need to speak to them, and I need to do it now.”   
  


She shrugged her shoulders. “Mom!” She called into the house. “Dad! M--you have a visitor! I’m going to let him in.” 

Betty closed the door behind them, and she locked the deadbolt. Being the Sheriff’s daughter had taught her you could never be too careful. 

“Who is it, Elizabeth?” She heard Alice say, and she saw her mother peer down the staircase, clad in her pyjamas. “Harold? Is that you?” 

“I’m sorry to bother you, Alice,” he said, and Betty had to admit he did look ashamed. “It’s just that I need to speak to you about a matter of paramount importance.”

“Is this about work? Harold, I told you, when I’m at home--”

“It’s not about work,” he said. “I need to talk to FP about a case.” 

“What case?” Veronica asked, having been drawn out of the living room after the scent of potential drama. “What are you talking about?” 

“Veronica, this is Mom’s boss, Mr. Cooper,” Betty said, feeling the need to make introductions. “Mr. Cooper, this is my friend, Veronica Lodge.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cooper,” Veronica said, and she presented him with her hand to shake. “You must be Polly’s dad.”   
  


“You’ve met her? Polly?” 

“Only once,” she said, and she made a face. “I don’t really enjoy her company.”

“I’ll be down in a moment, Harold,” her mother said. “Elizabeth, make Harold comfortable. Offer to make him a drink.” 

Betty directed Mr. Cooper to the nearest chair, mainly out of concern for his coloring. “What will you take?” She asked. 

“I need something strong,” he muttered, as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and dabbed at his forehead. “The strongest you’ve got.” 

“Vermouth?” Betty offered, as she held up a bottle. “Neat?” 

“Yes,” he said. Betty took out a glass, and poured him a drink. “Alice?”

Her mother swept into the room, tying her dressing gown as she did. “What is it, Hal?” 

“I had an encounter today,” he said, as he took a sip of the drink. “With that young lady’s mother.” He pointed at Veronica. “She took exception to the article that I wrote about Jason Blossom.” 

“That’s why you woke us up? To tell FP and me that Hermione is angry with you?” 

He shook his head. “No, that’s not why. I think that she had something to do with Hiram’s death.” 

Veronica let out a laugh. “Of course she did,” she said. “You can’t possibly think that she’s innocent? That she and Fred are together out of love?” 

“Of course he doesn’t think that,” Alice said. “Harold knows better. Of course, he should know better than to wake me up by regurgitating the things I have been saying to him since Hermione rolled back into town, as if they are suddenly new bits of information.” She rolled her eyes, and she picked up her pack of cigarettes from the table, and lit one up. “Jonesy,” she said. “Breaking news. Local business owner discovers his loyal investigative reporter was right. See tomorrow’s Register for more information.”

“Hey, Hal,” her dad said as he came into the kitchen, Jellybean in his arms. “What brings you here?” 

“I don’t think that the girl,” he said, and he gestured to Veronica. “Is safe in her home. The things that Hermione said…”


	8. and in the end

“Come on, Fred,” FP goaded, his tone purposely light. “We were friends. Surely you’d tell me if there was anything that you knew about the Blossom girl’s death?” He lit up a cigarette as he stood outside of Fred’s cell, somewhat amused by the entire situation. “Did you think that things wouldn’t fall apart for you?” 

“Fall apart for me?” Fred demanded. “I’m not the one whose husband died. This is Hermione’s problem.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he informed him. “You see, Hermione’s sang like a damn canary. She’s told us some  _ very  _ interesting things here at the station, and some of them involve you.” 

“Like what?”

He exhaled loudly, a plume of smoke filling the air, and he shrugged his shoulders. “She told us that you shot Hiram, and that you shot the girl, and she told my deputy sheriff where he’d be able to find the weapon. A gun which, interestingly enough, was registered under  _ your _ name.” 

“That’s circumstantial,” he muttered. “Maybe someone stole my gun? Did you ever think about that?” 

“I did,” he admitted. “Then I remembered the conditions of your parole. How you weren’t allowed to  _ own _ a firearm, after your little arrest for driving under the influence? How you swore you’d destroyed your arms?” 

“You didn’t mean that,” he said. “That was all talk.” 

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he informed him. “I’m  _ not _ all talk. I care about my reputation in this town, about doing my job right. I can’t give you a damn pass for fucking up your damn parole, Fred. I’m the Sheriff. Alice and the kids rely on me to keep this damn job so that we can have food on the table. I’m not you, Fred.”

“What do you mean by that?” Fred asked with a scowl. “You think that you’re  _ better _ than me? Why? Because you got lucky?”

“A child is dead, Fred,” he said, his tone flat. “And you’re in here fucking around like we’re having a damn social hour.” 

“Please. It’s just Cheryl Blossom. What did she matter to anyone? If anything, I did everyone a favor. If I did it. Which I didn’t.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“I really don’t have to stay here, Mrs. Jones,” Veronica insisted quietly. “I can go back to the Dakota.”

Betty’s mother arched her brows. “Do you think I’d let you live in the  _ Dakota _ alone? Why ever would I do that? The world is dangerous enough.” 

“I’ll stay at the Pembroke, then,” she insisted, as she clutched the handle of her suitcase. “I don’t want your pity.” 

Sure, her mother was imprisoned because of her father’s death, and her father was dead, but Veronica didn’t much see the point of taking advantage of Betty’s family, and their attempts at kindness. 

“It’s not pity, Veronica,” she said, and Veronica heard the exhaustion that was evident in her tone. “You think that I don’t understand what it’s like to be thrown out of my own home? To be hated for factors that were beyond my control? Do you think that I married FP when I was younger than you and Elizabeth because I thought it would be fun?” 

“I--”   
  


“I did what I had to do, and I don’t regret that, I don’t regret those decisions that I made, for me, for my baby. You don’t have to make those decisions, Veronica. You have a place to stay. A place that will give you a home.” 

“You say that now,” she protested. “Why would you ever give me a home when you find out about how deviant I am? How--”   
  


“You think I haven’t heard your mother and that moron discuss your personal habits like they’re of  _ any _ interest to me? I know, Veronica. I don’t care. I don’t care if you and Betty join some god awful commune, so long as you’re both adults while you’re doing so.” 

“There’s a catch, isn’t there?” 

The older woman shook her head. “There isn’t a catch.”

“There isn’t?” 

She shook her head once more. “I just don’t want you and Elizabeth sharing the same bedroom.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you like this feyrelay. It is a pleasure to write for you.


End file.
